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Moving On
I was loved once.
That might be hard to believe, looking at me as I am now. Laid up in a dark, dingy alley amid the garbage cans and refuse. My fur matted or missing, my hair a tangled mess, soaked through by an earlier Hearth Warming Eve drizzle. No, I wasn’t always like this. I can remember better times. So many better times.
My memory is quite good, after all. It always has been.
Why, I can even remember my very first day…
It was dark. I remember that. It had been dark for a very long time. But I knew the future would be different. I could feel it. There was a steady sound of hoofbeats around me, and excited voices. And suddenly the whole world was moving and shaking! And there was light, bright white light…
And then a pair of giant hooves reached down to lift me up out of my box.
“Awwwww! She’s so adorable! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
That was my first owner speaking. Sparkling Dreams was her name, and I was her favorite Hearths Warming present. She wasted no time lifting me up to her face and nuzzling my soft plush body, and I could practically feel her love and happiness inside me, warming my stuffing as she squeezed me.
“Thank Santa Hooves, Honey.” Miss Sparkling’s Mom gently admonished. “He’s the one who brought you the doll after all, since you’ve been such a good little filly this year.”
“Okay Mommy! Me and Molly will go write him a thank you letter right now!” Sparkling was practically jumping in place as she held me against her barrel.
Her excitement was contagious, and I’d have been jumping up and down too, if I could have. I couldn’t of course, so I settled for dangling from her foreleg, and thinking happy, excited thoughts.
“Molly? Who’s Molly, sweatheart?” Mister Sparkling’s Dad asked.
“That’s her name of course! Molly! And we’re going to be best friends!” She said with a giggle and another warm hug.
I loved Sparkle’s hugs. I loved everything about my Sparkle.
I later learned that ‘Molly’ was an odd name for a pony, but a perfectly acceptable one for a doll. I was very partial to it myself, though I might be a tad biased.
After that first Hearth’s Warming, Sparkling and I were inseparable. We’d do everything together! We played dress up, had tea parties, tried out new hairstyles. Sometimes we’d be royalty, and go to fancy parties and lavish balls! We’d even meet Princess Celestia sometimes! (It’s very important that one learn to curtsy properly when meeting royalty!)
We’d also go on trips sometimes! The long ones to Grandma’s house were rare. But short trips to the park were common. We’d spend hours walking around the park, discovering secret places in bushes, or searching for pirate treasure around the pond. And, of course, having picnics in the royal gardens!
It wasn’t always just the two of us though. Sometimes we’d meet other fillies and colts there and play together with them. There would be other dolls there too sometimes, keeping their owners company.
Sometimes we'd have big tea parties with the other fillies and dollies, or play house together. And Sparkling would play with the other dolls too. But I knew she was just being polite and a gracious host. She never strayed far from me, and she always asked my opinion on things first. And when we went home she’d carry me into bed and snuggle up against me, giving me a kiss and telling me goodnight before we fell asleep.
I do so miss those goodnight kisses.
Sparkling Dreams and I went on like that for years. And those were beautiful, wonderful years. But as time passed, Sparkling spoke to me less and less. She didn’t always consult me, asking for me opinion on things. And sometimes she’d leave me behind for a little while. She didn’t forget about me! Good gracious, no! At least, not then… But we weren’t quite as inseparable as we once were.
It was around this time that Sparkling’s little brother, Ordered Rank, began sneaking off with me when he could.
Oh, not that I ever minded! Ordered would carry me off and put me in front of his little lines of toy guardsmen. He’d be a big, important Captain, and I’d be his sergeant, delivering his orders and leading the mares and stallions into battle with dangerous monsters and ancient foes!
It was a lot different than the usual tea parties with Sparkling, Mr. Binky the bear, and Princess Celestia, that was for sure. Though Princess Celestia would still show up sometimes, to give us commendations for a job well done.
No, I never minded playing with Ordered. Our games and adventures made him so happy, and that filled me with so much warmth and happiness! I do wish, however, that he’d been a bit less rough in his playing. And that he’d get Sparkling’s permission to borrow me before doing so. Because my owner most certainly did mind when he ‘borrowed’ me.
(Sparkling would claim he was ‘stealing’ me. I always felt that was a very harsh term, however. After all, I loved both of them so very much, how could I consider spending time with either of them ‘stealing?’)
Ordered’s roughness did cause quite a row between them one time, when a bit of… vigorous play resulted in one of my seams getting popped. I remember how scared I was when some of my stuffing started to come out. Ordered was worried too, I could tell. But nowhere near as frightened and upset as Sparkling was. As soon as she found out, she rushed me to her parents, tears in her eyes.
Thank goodness Miss Sparkling’s Mom was so good with a needle and thread. She had me restuffed and sewn back up in no time, no worse for wear! Well, okay. If I’m being honest, I was a little worse for wear. My fur was getting a bit worn in places, where I’d been hugged and nuzzled. My tail had lost a few threads over the years, and had accumulated a few minor stains here and there. And my left button eye was beginning to work loose.
But all in all, I felt I was in excellent shape! And I wouldn’t have traded a single hug or cuddle for a perfectly new body!
Besides, Sparkling didn’t care if I was a little worn. She was still my best friend, and that was all that mattered.
Sparkling was a lot more careful with me after that. I spent most of my time up on a shelf in her bedroom, out of Ordered Rank’s reach. I appreciated her care and concern, I truly did. But it was awfully quiet up there. Sparkling and I hardly talked anymore, and almost never played games or went on adventures. It was… peaceful.
So I stayed quiet and I watched as Sparking grew bigger and bigger. Things changed. She painted her room new colors. Pictures of flutter-ponies and castles were replaced with posters for something called ‘colt-bands’ and fashion models. And Sparkling spent more and more time out of the house, and less in her bedroom with me.
When she entered the room with a cardboard box one day, I wasn’t worried. We’d gone through this several times over the years, when Sparkling felt it was time for a change. Other toys and dollies were boxed up and moved out as furniture was shifted around. But I was always put out on her bed to watch, and returned to pride of place on her shelf.
But not this time. This time she picked me up and smiled at me. Then she hugged me close.
“Goodbye Molly.” she whispered.
And then she gently lowered me into the box.
I didn’t, couldn’t understand it. We were best friends, weren’t we? Had I done something wrong? And if so, what?
If there were answers to be found, they weren’t in the box with me. And so I rested. And waited.
Eventually my new home rustled and rumbled once again. And when the box was finally opened I looked up to see the faces of Mister Sparkling’s Dad and Miss Sparkling’s Mom once more. Though they looked… older and a bit more careworn than I recall them being when last saw them.
“Look honey, it’s Sparkling’s old doll! What was her name again?” Mister Sparkling’s Dad carefully extracted me from the other toys in the box.
“Molly, dear. Her name is Molly. Remember how inseparable they were when Sparkling was a filly? Awwww, it was so adorable.” She sighed. “They grow up so fast.”
“They sure do. I’m sure Sparkling would want to hang onto her, if she knew we’d found her...” Mister Sparkling’s Father trailed off, and I could feel my heart fluttering in my stuffing. Of course Sparkling would remember me! We were best friends!
“I’m sure she would. But the poor thing would just end up in a box again someday. Molding away in the attic.
“Right you are, dear. Better to donate her, so she can make some other filly happy.”
And with that happy thought, I found myself nestled into a different box, and once again sealed up in darkness.
I really didn’t know what to think about this new change in circumstances
On the one hoof, I was being separated from Sparkling Dreams. Sparkling was my best friend! No, my whole world!
But… I’d already been separated from her. For a long time even. Clearly I had done something wrong. But maybe… Maybe I’d get a second chance? Surely if I could figure out what I’d done wrong with Sparkling, I could fix it this time!
My stuffing fluttered with excitement at the thought!
My box passed through several sets of hooves after that. They were all kind and gentle, but none of them were my new best friend. They were all older stallions and mares, and they all spent a few moments examining me, separating me out from one pile of dolls and into another before moving me on.
Eventually I ended up in yet another box with a hoofful of other dollies and toys. And the pony that opened the box this time was an old, matronly mare who smiled down on us.
I liked her smile. It was warm.
“Oh, the little colts and fillies will be so happy to see all of you.” She murmered, before carrying us into the next room.
“Children!” I heard her call. “Come gather round! Some kind souls have donated new toys for you to play with!”
I couldn’t see anything but the ceiling from my vantage point, but I could hear the scrambling of hooves. lots of little hooves. I will admit to having been puzzled at the time. I was wondering how anypony could have a family that big!
Then my box was placed on the ground, and all I could see was a sea of happy, excited, smiling faces looking down on me.
It was pandemonium for a few moments, as everypony reached down to grab something. But after a few moments of confusion, I found myself hugged between the wing and barrel of a little yellow pegasus filly. Sparkling had never held me like that, since she didn’t have wings. It was different.
“Awwww! What a cute dolly!” My new owner (Banana Pudding, I learned her name was) gushed.
Yes, it felt different to be held by her. But in all the important ways, it felt the same.
I am embarrassed to admit that it took me some time to realize the nature of the institution I had ended up in. For the longest time I tried to figure out how one family had produced so many colts and fillies of such similar ages, all at once. It seemed… impractical.
But it all made sense once I understood what an orphanage was.
A place for orphans.
A place for colts and fillies who had lost their moms and dads.
A place filled with foals who desperately needed love and cuddles and a friend to listen to their problems and dry their tears.
I never regretted a single instant I spent with Sparkling Dreams or Ordered Ranks. I loved, and still love the both of them to the very depths of my plush, fluffy heart. But this place… This place was filled with so many fillies and colts just like them. And all of them needed a friend, playmate, confidant, and snuggle buddy. And my greatest regret was that I could only be with one foal at a time.
Oh, it wasn’t perfect of course. The orphanage was a far more… rough and tumble place than I was used to. Sometimes ponies even fought over who received the pleasure of my company! (Thankfully the scuffles never lasted long before Miss Open Heart broke them up.) And there were always new ponies coming in (and what a tragedy each new arrival was!) and old ponies leaving (A much happier, if somewhat bittersweet occasion.)
I always tried to spend my time with the newest members of our little family. They always needed the most love and comforting. I think Miss Open Heart could see that, because I was often given to the new arrivals to help ease their transition.
I remember each and every one of them, of course. Banana Pudding. Mystery. Double Shot, Magnum, Curly Fry, and so, so many others. I loved each and every one of them so very much, and I know they all loved me just as much in return.
We spent so much time doing so many things! We explored jungles and dungeons and castles! We dressed up in fancy clothes and tried different hairstyles. We went to parties and balls and on picnics! And, of course, there were lots and lots of tea parties! Often attended by Princess Celestia, of course!
I received many different names as well of course. The sorts of silly nonsense names fillies give dollies. Like Elisa and Belle and Jasmine and, oh, loads of others! (I’ve always remained partial to Molly though.) And sometimes, especially to the littlest ones, I was Momma or Dadda, the names whispered in their sleep as they snuggled against me in the lonely nights.
There was no time spent sitting on a shelf, just watching. Not here.
At least, not at first.
Not for a long time, really.
But eventually….
Eventually… All things come to an end I suppose.
Years of grasping hooves have worn my fur smooth and bare. My tail is little more than a few threads. My left button eye is missing. Not that it has matched my right for ages. I’m covered in patches and needle holes, and my stuffing is squashed. And I’ve accumulated more than my fair share of stains over my years of service. As painful as it is to admit, I'm no longer in as great a shape as I once was.
And then, yesterday, the day before Hearth’s Warming, some kind soul donated a huge box of brand new toys and dolls to the orphanage. I bear no ire or ill will towards the provider of such a wonderful gift. I feel only happiness that there are such generous ponies out there. And, of course, I don’t begrudge the children the chance to play with new toys and dolls! They deserve all the happiness and joy such a gift will bring them.
But, with the arrival of new toys, room must be made for them. And the only way to do that, is to clear out the old, worn out toys.
Old worn out toys like me.
And so I found myself in a cardboard box for one last time. Carried outside with all the other discarded toys. Miss Open Heart (her face a bit more worn and wrinkled than when I had first seen her all those years ago) placed the box down beside the trashcan in the alley behind the orphanage.
She looked down at me with a small, sad smile, and gave me one last pat on the head. “You’ve been good toys, all of you. You’ve made a lot of foals very happy. Thank you.” She whispered before turning and walking back inside.
It was nice to be recognized, one last time.
So now I lay here, in the place where all things eventually end up. Worn, ragged, and damp, surrounded by refuse, awaiting my final fate.
I don’t regret my role in life. And I think I’ve made the best of the time I’ve had. I’ve loved and been loved by so many foals. How could I regret even a moment of that?
I just wish I had some idea of what comes next. What am I supposed to do now?
I’m still pondering that question when the sound of hoofsteps come down the alleyway. Which is rather strange. It’s Hearth Warming Eve. Surely the trash ponies are at home with their families tonight?
“Well well well, what have we here?” A pair of antlers are suddenly hovering over my box. A pair of antlers framing a large, jolly reindeer’s face. “I knew I sensed something special, and it seems I was right, wasn’t I my little doll?.”
Hello there sir. It’s nice to meet you. But I’m sure you’re mistaken. I’m nothing special. Just a worn out old doll. I replied.
“My, you’re certainly a polite one, aren’t you?” He smiled and chuckled, and his antlers glowed faintly as he levitated me before him. “But I assure you, you are something special indeed.”
Well, one must be polite when one has a many tea parties with princesses as I have. But I really don’t see what’s so special about me. I’m just a doll.
“Ah, but no doll is just a doll to the child that loves them. And sometimes, with all that love, miracles happen. And a simple toy becomes something more. Something special.”
Oh. I took a few moments to consider that. Well, even if that is true, how would anypony know a doll i special?
"Well, in truth nopony 'knows' that a doll or toy is 'special.' Oh, they certainly notice the difference, in their hearts. But only the youngest truly 'know.'" He smiled back down at me. "And I know of course! But I'm hardly a Pony, now am I! And besides, knowing things like that is job! Ho ho ho! He laughed merrily, his cheeks bouncing as he smiled down at me.
Oh, I see. So if you know about dolls like me... I hesitantly continued. Then do you know what happens to me now?
“Oh, that’s easy my little doll. Now you can come back to my workshop with me. My reindeer will be so very happy to meet you and fix you. Why, you'll be as good as new in no time flat!”
Really? I could feel warmth and hope deep inside my worn out stuffing at the thought.
“Really. And then you can return to bringing comfort and happiness to foals once more.” Mister Reindeer gently floated me to the saddlebags hanging on his sides, carefully placing me so that my head and forehooves were hanging over the edge.
“So, what’s your name little dolly? I’m afraid I have quite a few stops to make this evening before I head back to my workshop, and I can hardly call you ‘Doll’ all night long.”
My name is Molly. I replied. I know it’s a rather silly name, but it’s mine.
Mister Reindeer just grinned and laughed.
“Ho ho ho! With a name like ‘Kringle’ I can hardly call anyone else’s name silly, now can I Molly?”
And then he touched a hoof to his nose, and we were airborne despite Mr. Reindeer’s conspicuous lack of wings.
That was a year ago. And Mister Kringle was as good as his word.
His workers were very nice and kind. And very happy to see me! They made me a brand new body, just as good as my original. They’d offered to make me a different body. A porcelain doll perhaps, or an action figure if I had wanted it. But I declined.
Porcelain and plastic were just too hard and too cold. I wanted to warm and soft. So little fillies and colts could snuggle up to me and hold me tight.
I spent a whole year in the Workshop after they fixed me. But I wasn’t bored, oh no! Every day the Reindeer talked to me or played with me. And there were other toys there, toys like me! We talked every day, sharing stories about the ponies we’d met and loved, telling each other about the different places we’d been and the games we’d played.
I learned a lot from the other toys. Laying here in the darkness of my box, I can hardly wait for a chance to put all I’ve learned to good use. It won’t be long now. I can hear the clippity-clop of excited little hooves running around outside.
My fluffy little heart is pounding in excitement and anticipation. Soon I’ll have another chance to bring laughter and happiness to a foal’s life. And I know that even if I get worn out or damaged, Mister Kringle and his friends will always be there to fix me back up, so I can return to help those who need me.
The sound of paper ripping is quickly followed by blinding bright light as my box is opened. And then I’m being squished against the barrel of an excited little filly.
“Oh, she’s wonderful!”
Warmth fills my stuffing.
It’s good to be home.
That might be hard to believe, looking at me as I am now. Laid up in a dark, dingy alley amid the garbage cans and refuse. My fur matted or missing, my hair a tangled mess, soaked through by an earlier Hearth Warming Eve drizzle. No, I wasn’t always like this. I can remember better times. So many better times.
My memory is quite good, after all. It always has been.
Why, I can even remember my very first day…
It was dark. I remember that. It had been dark for a very long time. But I knew the future would be different. I could feel it. There was a steady sound of hoofbeats around me, and excited voices. And suddenly the whole world was moving and shaking! And there was light, bright white light…
And then a pair of giant hooves reached down to lift me up out of my box.
“Awwwww! She’s so adorable! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
That was my first owner speaking. Sparkling Dreams was her name, and I was her favorite Hearths Warming present. She wasted no time lifting me up to her face and nuzzling my soft plush body, and I could practically feel her love and happiness inside me, warming my stuffing as she squeezed me.
“Thank Santa Hooves, Honey.” Miss Sparkling’s Mom gently admonished. “He’s the one who brought you the doll after all, since you’ve been such a good little filly this year.”
“Okay Mommy! Me and Molly will go write him a thank you letter right now!” Sparkling was practically jumping in place as she held me against her barrel.
Her excitement was contagious, and I’d have been jumping up and down too, if I could have. I couldn’t of course, so I settled for dangling from her foreleg, and thinking happy, excited thoughts.
“Molly? Who’s Molly, sweatheart?” Mister Sparkling’s Dad asked.
“That’s her name of course! Molly! And we’re going to be best friends!” She said with a giggle and another warm hug.
I loved Sparkle’s hugs. I loved everything about my Sparkle.
I later learned that ‘Molly’ was an odd name for a pony, but a perfectly acceptable one for a doll. I was very partial to it myself, though I might be a tad biased.
After that first Hearth’s Warming, Sparkling and I were inseparable. We’d do everything together! We played dress up, had tea parties, tried out new hairstyles. Sometimes we’d be royalty, and go to fancy parties and lavish balls! We’d even meet Princess Celestia sometimes! (It’s very important that one learn to curtsy properly when meeting royalty!)
We’d also go on trips sometimes! The long ones to Grandma’s house were rare. But short trips to the park were common. We’d spend hours walking around the park, discovering secret places in bushes, or searching for pirate treasure around the pond. And, of course, having picnics in the royal gardens!
It wasn’t always just the two of us though. Sometimes we’d meet other fillies and colts there and play together with them. There would be other dolls there too sometimes, keeping their owners company.
Sometimes we'd have big tea parties with the other fillies and dollies, or play house together. And Sparkling would play with the other dolls too. But I knew she was just being polite and a gracious host. She never strayed far from me, and she always asked my opinion on things first. And when we went home she’d carry me into bed and snuggle up against me, giving me a kiss and telling me goodnight before we fell asleep.
I do so miss those goodnight kisses.
Sparkling Dreams and I went on like that for years. And those were beautiful, wonderful years. But as time passed, Sparkling spoke to me less and less. She didn’t always consult me, asking for me opinion on things. And sometimes she’d leave me behind for a little while. She didn’t forget about me! Good gracious, no! At least, not then… But we weren’t quite as inseparable as we once were.
It was around this time that Sparkling’s little brother, Ordered Rank, began sneaking off with me when he could.
Oh, not that I ever minded! Ordered would carry me off and put me in front of his little lines of toy guardsmen. He’d be a big, important Captain, and I’d be his sergeant, delivering his orders and leading the mares and stallions into battle with dangerous monsters and ancient foes!
It was a lot different than the usual tea parties with Sparkling, Mr. Binky the bear, and Princess Celestia, that was for sure. Though Princess Celestia would still show up sometimes, to give us commendations for a job well done.
No, I never minded playing with Ordered. Our games and adventures made him so happy, and that filled me with so much warmth and happiness! I do wish, however, that he’d been a bit less rough in his playing. And that he’d get Sparkling’s permission to borrow me before doing so. Because my owner most certainly did mind when he ‘borrowed’ me.
(Sparkling would claim he was ‘stealing’ me. I always felt that was a very harsh term, however. After all, I loved both of them so very much, how could I consider spending time with either of them ‘stealing?’)
Ordered’s roughness did cause quite a row between them one time, when a bit of… vigorous play resulted in one of my seams getting popped. I remember how scared I was when some of my stuffing started to come out. Ordered was worried too, I could tell. But nowhere near as frightened and upset as Sparkling was. As soon as she found out, she rushed me to her parents, tears in her eyes.
Thank goodness Miss Sparkling’s Mom was so good with a needle and thread. She had me restuffed and sewn back up in no time, no worse for wear! Well, okay. If I’m being honest, I was a little worse for wear. My fur was getting a bit worn in places, where I’d been hugged and nuzzled. My tail had lost a few threads over the years, and had accumulated a few minor stains here and there. And my left button eye was beginning to work loose.
But all in all, I felt I was in excellent shape! And I wouldn’t have traded a single hug or cuddle for a perfectly new body!
Besides, Sparkling didn’t care if I was a little worn. She was still my best friend, and that was all that mattered.
Sparkling was a lot more careful with me after that. I spent most of my time up on a shelf in her bedroom, out of Ordered Rank’s reach. I appreciated her care and concern, I truly did. But it was awfully quiet up there. Sparkling and I hardly talked anymore, and almost never played games or went on adventures. It was… peaceful.
So I stayed quiet and I watched as Sparking grew bigger and bigger. Things changed. She painted her room new colors. Pictures of flutter-ponies and castles were replaced with posters for something called ‘colt-bands’ and fashion models. And Sparkling spent more and more time out of the house, and less in her bedroom with me.
When she entered the room with a cardboard box one day, I wasn’t worried. We’d gone through this several times over the years, when Sparkling felt it was time for a change. Other toys and dollies were boxed up and moved out as furniture was shifted around. But I was always put out on her bed to watch, and returned to pride of place on her shelf.
But not this time. This time she picked me up and smiled at me. Then she hugged me close.
“Goodbye Molly.” she whispered.
And then she gently lowered me into the box.
I didn’t, couldn’t understand it. We were best friends, weren’t we? Had I done something wrong? And if so, what?
If there were answers to be found, they weren’t in the box with me. And so I rested. And waited.
Eventually my new home rustled and rumbled once again. And when the box was finally opened I looked up to see the faces of Mister Sparkling’s Dad and Miss Sparkling’s Mom once more. Though they looked… older and a bit more careworn than I recall them being when last saw them.
“Look honey, it’s Sparkling’s old doll! What was her name again?” Mister Sparkling’s Dad carefully extracted me from the other toys in the box.
“Molly, dear. Her name is Molly. Remember how inseparable they were when Sparkling was a filly? Awwww, it was so adorable.” She sighed. “They grow up so fast.”
“They sure do. I’m sure Sparkling would want to hang onto her, if she knew we’d found her...” Mister Sparkling’s Father trailed off, and I could feel my heart fluttering in my stuffing. Of course Sparkling would remember me! We were best friends!
“I’m sure she would. But the poor thing would just end up in a box again someday. Molding away in the attic.
“Right you are, dear. Better to donate her, so she can make some other filly happy.”
And with that happy thought, I found myself nestled into a different box, and once again sealed up in darkness.
I really didn’t know what to think about this new change in circumstances
On the one hoof, I was being separated from Sparkling Dreams. Sparkling was my best friend! No, my whole world!
But… I’d already been separated from her. For a long time even. Clearly I had done something wrong. But maybe… Maybe I’d get a second chance? Surely if I could figure out what I’d done wrong with Sparkling, I could fix it this time!
My stuffing fluttered with excitement at the thought!
My box passed through several sets of hooves after that. They were all kind and gentle, but none of them were my new best friend. They were all older stallions and mares, and they all spent a few moments examining me, separating me out from one pile of dolls and into another before moving me on.
Eventually I ended up in yet another box with a hoofful of other dollies and toys. And the pony that opened the box this time was an old, matronly mare who smiled down on us.
I liked her smile. It was warm.
“Oh, the little colts and fillies will be so happy to see all of you.” She murmered, before carrying us into the next room.
“Children!” I heard her call. “Come gather round! Some kind souls have donated new toys for you to play with!”
I couldn’t see anything but the ceiling from my vantage point, but I could hear the scrambling of hooves. lots of little hooves. I will admit to having been puzzled at the time. I was wondering how anypony could have a family that big!
Then my box was placed on the ground, and all I could see was a sea of happy, excited, smiling faces looking down on me.
It was pandemonium for a few moments, as everypony reached down to grab something. But after a few moments of confusion, I found myself hugged between the wing and barrel of a little yellow pegasus filly. Sparkling had never held me like that, since she didn’t have wings. It was different.
“Awwww! What a cute dolly!” My new owner (Banana Pudding, I learned her name was) gushed.
Yes, it felt different to be held by her. But in all the important ways, it felt the same.
I am embarrassed to admit that it took me some time to realize the nature of the institution I had ended up in. For the longest time I tried to figure out how one family had produced so many colts and fillies of such similar ages, all at once. It seemed… impractical.
But it all made sense once I understood what an orphanage was.
A place for orphans.
A place for colts and fillies who had lost their moms and dads.
A place filled with foals who desperately needed love and cuddles and a friend to listen to their problems and dry their tears.
I never regretted a single instant I spent with Sparkling Dreams or Ordered Ranks. I loved, and still love the both of them to the very depths of my plush, fluffy heart. But this place… This place was filled with so many fillies and colts just like them. And all of them needed a friend, playmate, confidant, and snuggle buddy. And my greatest regret was that I could only be with one foal at a time.
Oh, it wasn’t perfect of course. The orphanage was a far more… rough and tumble place than I was used to. Sometimes ponies even fought over who received the pleasure of my company! (Thankfully the scuffles never lasted long before Miss Open Heart broke them up.) And there were always new ponies coming in (and what a tragedy each new arrival was!) and old ponies leaving (A much happier, if somewhat bittersweet occasion.)
I always tried to spend my time with the newest members of our little family. They always needed the most love and comforting. I think Miss Open Heart could see that, because I was often given to the new arrivals to help ease their transition.
I remember each and every one of them, of course. Banana Pudding. Mystery. Double Shot, Magnum, Curly Fry, and so, so many others. I loved each and every one of them so very much, and I know they all loved me just as much in return.
We spent so much time doing so many things! We explored jungles and dungeons and castles! We dressed up in fancy clothes and tried different hairstyles. We went to parties and balls and on picnics! And, of course, there were lots and lots of tea parties! Often attended by Princess Celestia, of course!
I received many different names as well of course. The sorts of silly nonsense names fillies give dollies. Like Elisa and Belle and Jasmine and, oh, loads of others! (I’ve always remained partial to Molly though.) And sometimes, especially to the littlest ones, I was Momma or Dadda, the names whispered in their sleep as they snuggled against me in the lonely nights.
There was no time spent sitting on a shelf, just watching. Not here.
At least, not at first.
Not for a long time, really.
But eventually….
Eventually… All things come to an end I suppose.
Years of grasping hooves have worn my fur smooth and bare. My tail is little more than a few threads. My left button eye is missing. Not that it has matched my right for ages. I’m covered in patches and needle holes, and my stuffing is squashed. And I’ve accumulated more than my fair share of stains over my years of service. As painful as it is to admit, I'm no longer in as great a shape as I once was.
And then, yesterday, the day before Hearth’s Warming, some kind soul donated a huge box of brand new toys and dolls to the orphanage. I bear no ire or ill will towards the provider of such a wonderful gift. I feel only happiness that there are such generous ponies out there. And, of course, I don’t begrudge the children the chance to play with new toys and dolls! They deserve all the happiness and joy such a gift will bring them.
But, with the arrival of new toys, room must be made for them. And the only way to do that, is to clear out the old, worn out toys.
Old worn out toys like me.
And so I found myself in a cardboard box for one last time. Carried outside with all the other discarded toys. Miss Open Heart (her face a bit more worn and wrinkled than when I had first seen her all those years ago) placed the box down beside the trashcan in the alley behind the orphanage.
She looked down at me with a small, sad smile, and gave me one last pat on the head. “You’ve been good toys, all of you. You’ve made a lot of foals very happy. Thank you.” She whispered before turning and walking back inside.
It was nice to be recognized, one last time.
So now I lay here, in the place where all things eventually end up. Worn, ragged, and damp, surrounded by refuse, awaiting my final fate.
I don’t regret my role in life. And I think I’ve made the best of the time I’ve had. I’ve loved and been loved by so many foals. How could I regret even a moment of that?
I just wish I had some idea of what comes next. What am I supposed to do now?
I’m still pondering that question when the sound of hoofsteps come down the alleyway. Which is rather strange. It’s Hearth Warming Eve. Surely the trash ponies are at home with their families tonight?
“Well well well, what have we here?” A pair of antlers are suddenly hovering over my box. A pair of antlers framing a large, jolly reindeer’s face. “I knew I sensed something special, and it seems I was right, wasn’t I my little doll?.”
Hello there sir. It’s nice to meet you. But I’m sure you’re mistaken. I’m nothing special. Just a worn out old doll. I replied.
“My, you’re certainly a polite one, aren’t you?” He smiled and chuckled, and his antlers glowed faintly as he levitated me before him. “But I assure you, you are something special indeed.”
Well, one must be polite when one has a many tea parties with princesses as I have. But I really don’t see what’s so special about me. I’m just a doll.
“Ah, but no doll is just a doll to the child that loves them. And sometimes, with all that love, miracles happen. And a simple toy becomes something more. Something special.”
Oh. I took a few moments to consider that. Well, even if that is true, how would anypony know a doll i special?
"Well, in truth nopony 'knows' that a doll or toy is 'special.' Oh, they certainly notice the difference, in their hearts. But only the youngest truly 'know.'" He smiled back down at me. "And I know of course! But I'm hardly a Pony, now am I! And besides, knowing things like that is job! Ho ho ho! He laughed merrily, his cheeks bouncing as he smiled down at me.
Oh, I see. So if you know about dolls like me... I hesitantly continued. Then do you know what happens to me now?
“Oh, that’s easy my little doll. Now you can come back to my workshop with me. My reindeer will be so very happy to meet you and fix you. Why, you'll be as good as new in no time flat!”
Really? I could feel warmth and hope deep inside my worn out stuffing at the thought.
“Really. And then you can return to bringing comfort and happiness to foals once more.” Mister Reindeer gently floated me to the saddlebags hanging on his sides, carefully placing me so that my head and forehooves were hanging over the edge.
“So, what’s your name little dolly? I’m afraid I have quite a few stops to make this evening before I head back to my workshop, and I can hardly call you ‘Doll’ all night long.”
My name is Molly. I replied. I know it’s a rather silly name, but it’s mine.
Mister Reindeer just grinned and laughed.
“Ho ho ho! With a name like ‘Kringle’ I can hardly call anyone else’s name silly, now can I Molly?”
And then he touched a hoof to his nose, and we were airborne despite Mr. Reindeer’s conspicuous lack of wings.
That was a year ago. And Mister Kringle was as good as his word.
His workers were very nice and kind. And very happy to see me! They made me a brand new body, just as good as my original. They’d offered to make me a different body. A porcelain doll perhaps, or an action figure if I had wanted it. But I declined.
Porcelain and plastic were just too hard and too cold. I wanted to warm and soft. So little fillies and colts could snuggle up to me and hold me tight.
I spent a whole year in the Workshop after they fixed me. But I wasn’t bored, oh no! Every day the Reindeer talked to me or played with me. And there were other toys there, toys like me! We talked every day, sharing stories about the ponies we’d met and loved, telling each other about the different places we’d been and the games we’d played.
I learned a lot from the other toys. Laying here in the darkness of my box, I can hardly wait for a chance to put all I’ve learned to good use. It won’t be long now. I can hear the clippity-clop of excited little hooves running around outside.
My fluffy little heart is pounding in excitement and anticipation. Soon I’ll have another chance to bring laughter and happiness to a foal’s life. And I know that even if I get worn out or damaged, Mister Kringle and his friends will always be there to fix me back up, so I can return to help those who need me.
The sound of paper ripping is quickly followed by blinding bright light as my box is opened. And then I’m being squished against the barrel of an excited little filly.
“Oh, she’s wonderful!”
Warmth fills my stuffing.
It’s good to be home.
The story is very well-written, but it lacks much originality. We've all seen this story before in both commercial and non-commercial formats (especially this time of year), and I didn't feel like I got anything new out of this iteration. Even though the writing was top-notch I ended up skimming because I felt a little bored.
You tugged a little too hard on my heartstrings to make the scenes work for me: internal monologue about how all the doll wants to do is give love and joy to others, the doll's character is perfect and has no flaws whatsoever, learning what 'orphans' are for the first time, being repeatedly discarded, and glurge upon glurge of doll's lament.
I think it's a mistake to provide zero foreshadowing that the doll is 'special' because without hints to that effect it's hard to become invested in her fate. When you anthropomorphize everything, it becomes hard to throw away an old pizza box without feeling guilty, and the generality of "okay, well, this is just one of a billion dolls" significantly deducted from my ability to connect with the character.
Ponification seems to have been shoehorned in as an afterthought, which is a shame because you could have made your story relevant by making the doll be Smarty Pants, an established character. Passing him from Twilight to Mac and then to the orphans would have provided a much stronger emotional connection, because now we have a reason to care about what happens to more than one character in the story. This kind of personalization is especially important since the story itself is not that original.
I think this would be an excellent story if you made the doll Smarty Pants and focused on more than just one character. We could see a window into unspoken parts of the show through Smarty's eyes, and get a fresh perspective on the characters we already love. Even if you turn this into a nonpony story with only original human characters (which I suspect is your intent), adding more to that window on other characters' lives is important because without it, the story is all telliness from the doll's perspective. You're clearly an excellent writer, so I urge you to push yourself to sneak some more show into the mix.
You tugged a little too hard on my heartstrings to make the scenes work for me: internal monologue about how all the doll wants to do is give love and joy to others, the doll's character is perfect and has no flaws whatsoever, learning what 'orphans' are for the first time, being repeatedly discarded, and glurge upon glurge of doll's lament.
I think it's a mistake to provide zero foreshadowing that the doll is 'special' because without hints to that effect it's hard to become invested in her fate. When you anthropomorphize everything, it becomes hard to throw away an old pizza box without feeling guilty, and the generality of "okay, well, this is just one of a billion dolls" significantly deducted from my ability to connect with the character.
Ponification seems to have been shoehorned in as an afterthought, which is a shame because you could have made your story relevant by making the doll be Smarty Pants, an established character. Passing him from Twilight to Mac and then to the orphans would have provided a much stronger emotional connection, because now we have a reason to care about what happens to more than one character in the story. This kind of personalization is especially important since the story itself is not that original.
I think this would be an excellent story if you made the doll Smarty Pants and focused on more than just one character. We could see a window into unspoken parts of the show through Smarty's eyes, and get a fresh perspective on the characters we already love. Even if you turn this into a nonpony story with only original human characters (which I suspect is your intent), adding more to that window on other characters' lives is important because without it, the story is all telliness from the doll's perspective. You're clearly an excellent writer, so I urge you to push yourself to sneak some more show into the mix.
By the end, I had come to pretty much the same conclusion Trick Question had. However, despite the fact that it tried so hard, or maybe because of that, to pull on my heartstrings, you played them like a fucking fiddle. That said, by the time that Santa Hooves showed up, I had really noticed how uh... formulaic the story was. But the writing was enough to keep me wanting to reading all the way through, and despite knowing everything that was gonna happen a second before it did due to cultural osmosis, I still loved every moment of it.
It got a reaction from me. It's been done, but it doesn't matter. Even though there are a thousand busts of Helios, you still sculpted a bust of Helios.
I liked it.
It got a reaction from me. It's been done, but it doesn't matter. Even though there are a thousand busts of Helios, you still sculpted a bust of Helios.
I liked it.
This sort of story:
Always works, from "The Velveteen Rabbit" to "Toy Story 3". So let me suggest making it more specifically Pony. After all, Equestria is a world where magic is literally an every day phenomenon--one might even say an everyday phenomenon. How is the sort of magic we see here different from the sort that Twilight does or the sort that Celestia does? Is it different? Do toys gain sapience regularly.
Like folks say, this is nicely done. But maybe try digging a little deeper into the concept and see what bubbles up.
Mike
Always works, from "The Velveteen Rabbit" to "Toy Story 3". So let me suggest making it more specifically Pony. After all, Equestria is a world where magic is literally an every day phenomenon--one might even say an everyday phenomenon. How is the sort of magic we see here different from the sort that Twilight does or the sort that Celestia does? Is it different? Do toys gain sapience regularly.
Like folks say, this is nicely done. But maybe try digging a little deeper into the concept and see what bubbles up.
Mike
Cute!
I'm going to save you a whole paragraph of me gushing over how sweet this was because nobody wants to read that, and I'll go straight to the meat. While I think the story was superbly executed, I wish we could've gotten a bit more of Molly's time with Sparkling Dreams and Ordered Rank to better get a grip on Molly's feelngs, because that doesn't really shine until she's at the orphanage.
Also, why can Molly interact with other toys when in Kringle's workshop, but has never been shown to do that before?
Regardless, despite being a bit cliché, it remained thoroughly enjoyable. Pat yourself on the back for me.
Now to the storage room and dig out my old dolls.
I'm going to save you a whole paragraph of me gushing over how sweet this was because nobody wants to read that, and I'll go straight to the meat. While I think the story was superbly executed, I wish we could've gotten a bit more of Molly's time with Sparkling Dreams and Ordered Rank to better get a grip on Molly's feelngs, because that doesn't really shine until she's at the orphanage.
Also, why can Molly interact with other toys when in Kringle's workshop, but has never been shown to do that before?
Regardless, despite being a bit cliché, it remained thoroughly enjoyable. Pat yourself on the back for me.
Now to the storage room and dig out my old dolls.
Yeah I have little to add, as >>Trick_Question pretty much said everything there was to say. It's well-written, sure, and it was a cute story? But it lacked originality, the pony setting was -- if anything -- a drawback, and the lack of foreshadowing on the doll being 'special' made it less powerful emotionally.
Technically, though, really good story. Pat yourself on the back for that. However, from a purely storytelling perspective, this was both something we've all seen before and something extremely predictable -- and together, those two things can weigh a story down a lot, sadly.
Technically, though, really good story. Pat yourself on the back for that. However, from a purely storytelling perspective, this was both something we've all seen before and something extremely predictable -- and together, those two things can weigh a story down a lot, sadly.
I'll go ahead and add my voice to the chorus saying that this is well done for what it is, but there are ways you could make it more interesting. We've all read this story dozens of times, and while there's nothing wrong with that (and it's seasonally appropriate), it does mean you have to do a bit more to stand out from the pack, and you haven't really done that.
Still, for what it is, it's solid. You can take pride in that.
Still, for what it is, it's solid. You can take pride in that.
I feel like I've read this before... Not gonna lie, I had a pretty good idea of how this was going to end after that first scene-break. Well, I didn't expect Kringle, but yeah.
Still, on the whole I enjoyed it.
This story got me thinking about agency of characters. In this story, the MC is basically unable to do anything. I wondered a bit if this would go dark at the end; it could make for a half-decent horror story, tbh. Well, I'd probably dislike that, because I'm not a fan of horror, but yeah. The characters with agency are, unknowingly, destroying an innocent, and Molly can't actually do anything about it; that's pretty good nightmare fuel.
Well, the twist does turn that around, with 'the power of love' and all of that. Which is honestly a big part of why it works, I think; the trappings of pain, but with a bright ending? The contrast makes the mood shift stand out brightly.
On the other hand, the characters with agency don't really see any growth. Part of why Toy Story works, I think, is because we see both sides; Woody and Buzz grow into their friendship, and Sid ends up... well, not exactly 'better', but at least not someone who tortures living creatures for fun anymore. I'm not sure if/how that could work here, but it might be worth thinking about, so the bits with the kids feel a little less like filler. Sure, they're cutesy, but I think you could do more with them.
I'm not really sold on the in-media-res opening. I feel like it shows too much of your hand; if it hadn't been there, I might still have guessed the shape of the story, but it wouldn't have been quite so easy, I don't think.
Anyways, kudos for writing something cute, and good job on giving progression and growth to a very passive character. Good work, thanks for writing. :)
Still, on the whole I enjoyed it.
This story got me thinking about agency of characters. In this story, the MC is basically unable to do anything. I wondered a bit if this would go dark at the end; it could make for a half-decent horror story, tbh. Well, I'd probably dislike that, because I'm not a fan of horror, but yeah. The characters with agency are, unknowingly, destroying an innocent, and Molly can't actually do anything about it; that's pretty good nightmare fuel.
Well, the twist does turn that around, with 'the power of love' and all of that. Which is honestly a big part of why it works, I think; the trappings of pain, but with a bright ending? The contrast makes the mood shift stand out brightly.
On the other hand, the characters with agency don't really see any growth. Part of why Toy Story works, I think, is because we see both sides; Woody and Buzz grow into their friendship, and Sid ends up... well, not exactly 'better', but at least not someone who tortures living creatures for fun anymore. I'm not sure if/how that could work here, but it might be worth thinking about, so the bits with the kids feel a little less like filler. Sure, they're cutesy, but I think you could do more with them.
I'm not really sold on the in-media-res opening. I feel like it shows too much of your hand; if it hadn't been there, I might still have guessed the shape of the story, but it wouldn't have been quite so easy, I don't think.
Anyways, kudos for writing something cute, and good job on giving progression and growth to a very passive character. Good work, thanks for writing. :)
I'm seeing a lot of dogpiling this round — not just on this story, but on some others as well — for "unoriginality". I could leave another review here adding to the pile of "this was technically very well done but didn't move me", but I think that would be less helpful than trying to unpack what it is about "unoriginality" that creates such a problem in a story that everyone acknowledges is solid in craft.
So let's step sideways and talk about shipping.
Let's say that you have super strong opinions on a totally hypothetical ship which nobody appreciates, like, um, Dragon Queen Klember and Shapeshifter Leader Snorax. You post a story to FIMFic in which they glance across a crowded room at each other and realize how TOTES AWESOME they would be together, and their cheeks get all blushy and they both go all stammery and the only thing that happens in the story is that they spend all their time thinking about each other's hot bods. The pinnacle of literature, amirite?
Except most of your readers are rolling their eyes and saying, "Okay, okay, you ship it, I GET IT," and downvoting and moving on. (Meanwhile, Blorizon is faving, writing flowery signal-boost blogs, and recommending it to the Floyal Chanterlot Tribrary.)
I'm pretty sure everyone, everywhere, who has ever read or written a shipping story has fallen prey to this. What's wrong with that story? Nothing, if you like blushy cheeks and stammery glances and dragonwaifu fantasizing. The problem is that these are things which fans of That Particular Ship are going to be Highly Motivated To Read, because they send little emotional barbs shooting along the pathways established by your crushes on those characters — and if a reader without those existing pathways opens up your story, they're just going to say "Well, that was a thing" as your carefully crafted emotional arrows bounce off.
The reason I talk about Alien Shipping Syndrome is that I think the root of "unoriginality" complaints is ... certainly not the same, but at least from the same direction. You are carefully crafting emotional arrows to send down readers' emotional pathways. They are going down your own emotional pathways just fine (presumably; or else you'd probably have written something else which did). There will be a target audience out there for whom you are connecting at full strength (just like your Klembrax story is gonna make Blorizon squee at frequencies inaudible to the human ear). But when you throw that story to a wider audience that's not receptive on those pathways — and the Writeoffs are, if nothing else, a well-read and diverse audience — you just find your arrows skittering off of armor. ("Unoriginality" is a pathway problem more about overuse than underdevelopment, but the end result is the same.)
The first takeaway here is: Maybe this is just an audience problem. If you have written exactly the story you want to write, then your only problem is that it wants to be read somewhere besides the Writeoffs. With shipping stories, you'll have a built-in audience with the group dedicated to that ship; with feels-plucking stories, it's not hard to find an audience with the fandom that gave My Little Dashie half a million views. Heck, I've seen stories bomb here and then go on to wide Featurebox acclaim. (I'm also reminded of Sic Transit Gloria Mundi, which MrNumbers posted to the Writeoffs out of spite, to argue that readers overvalued the worst sorts of stereotyped paint-by-numbers stories, only to soar to acclaim both here and there on the basis of a lot of the little subtle details.)
It's a subtle and difficult skill — easy to fail at even at high levels — to write a story which connects with people despite that lack of pathway. (I would argue STGM is a great example of one which succeeds, but I'm pretty sure Numbers rolls over in his future grave every time that story is cited. Maybe read up on why people thought it succeeded anyway.) It's also not necessary for every story; sometimes it's the right choice to consciously decide that you want to rely on particular pathways being there. (This is, like, literally the foundation of 90% of fanfiction. We can write "Twilight Sparkle" and activate a billion pathways in readers' brains, rather than spend thousands of words carefully crafting our magical purple winged unicorn OC.) To get back to this particular story, you could do literally nothing and it'll do well with a whole bunch of readers who are not me (and people upthread). Or you could pour your heart and soul into revisions, and maybe it'll move the needle? It's a legitimate question whether you're better off ripping this apart to please your critics (and/or everyone who's mentally comparing it to Toy Story 3) or not.
But it also might be worth trying to build that connection, because the reason you're getting "unoriginal" complaints is that they're not connecting. (I've read plenty of stories which were predictable start to finish, which nevertheless got me reacting with: "I knew exactly what was going to happen and I don't care.") If you draw your reader in with a sympathetic character or vivid setting or gripping thematic hook, the plot can be paint-by-numbers and it won't reduce reader enthusiasm. So one possible takeaway of lots of "unoriginal" complaints might be to work on those other story elements rather than trying to scrap the plot arc you've got and tell a new story.
Anyway, hope that rambling helps someone. Re direct feedback, nothing really to offer; re scoring, I can't fault this for anything but it's also not sticking the landing on any of the sorts of daring leaps or compelling hooks that distinguish top contenders for me (see previous paragraph wrt some of those missing elements). So it'll probably end up high middle-slate.
Thanks for writing, and good luck with this. I know it sucks to get this much faint praise with no real actionable feedback ("write something else" is rather un-actionable in terms of how to fix your story in editing).
Tier: Strong (but see above wrt my voting and personal reaction)
EDIT: Didn't see !Hat's comment before posting. Yes, agency (and the lack of protagonist growth) is absolutely a major factor of my own disconnection here.
So let's step sideways and talk about shipping.
Let's say that you have super strong opinions on a totally hypothetical ship which nobody appreciates, like, um, Dragon Queen Klember and Shapeshifter Leader Snorax. You post a story to FIMFic in which they glance across a crowded room at each other and realize how TOTES AWESOME they would be together, and their cheeks get all blushy and they both go all stammery and the only thing that happens in the story is that they spend all their time thinking about each other's hot bods. The pinnacle of literature, amirite?
Except most of your readers are rolling their eyes and saying, "Okay, okay, you ship it, I GET IT," and downvoting and moving on. (Meanwhile, Blorizon is faving, writing flowery signal-boost blogs, and recommending it to the Floyal Chanterlot Tribrary.)
I'm pretty sure everyone, everywhere, who has ever read or written a shipping story has fallen prey to this. What's wrong with that story? Nothing, if you like blushy cheeks and stammery glances and dragonwaifu fantasizing. The problem is that these are things which fans of That Particular Ship are going to be Highly Motivated To Read, because they send little emotional barbs shooting along the pathways established by your crushes on those characters — and if a reader without those existing pathways opens up your story, they're just going to say "Well, that was a thing" as your carefully crafted emotional arrows bounce off.
The reason I talk about Alien Shipping Syndrome is that I think the root of "unoriginality" complaints is ... certainly not the same, but at least from the same direction. You are carefully crafting emotional arrows to send down readers' emotional pathways. They are going down your own emotional pathways just fine (presumably; or else you'd probably have written something else which did). There will be a target audience out there for whom you are connecting at full strength (just like your Klembrax story is gonna make Blorizon squee at frequencies inaudible to the human ear). But when you throw that story to a wider audience that's not receptive on those pathways — and the Writeoffs are, if nothing else, a well-read and diverse audience — you just find your arrows skittering off of armor. ("Unoriginality" is a pathway problem more about overuse than underdevelopment, but the end result is the same.)
The first takeaway here is: Maybe this is just an audience problem. If you have written exactly the story you want to write, then your only problem is that it wants to be read somewhere besides the Writeoffs. With shipping stories, you'll have a built-in audience with the group dedicated to that ship; with feels-plucking stories, it's not hard to find an audience with the fandom that gave My Little Dashie half a million views. Heck, I've seen stories bomb here and then go on to wide Featurebox acclaim. (I'm also reminded of Sic Transit Gloria Mundi, which MrNumbers posted to the Writeoffs out of spite, to argue that readers overvalued the worst sorts of stereotyped paint-by-numbers stories, only to soar to acclaim both here and there on the basis of a lot of the little subtle details.)
It's a subtle and difficult skill — easy to fail at even at high levels — to write a story which connects with people despite that lack of pathway. (I would argue STGM is a great example of one which succeeds, but I'm pretty sure Numbers rolls over in his future grave every time that story is cited. Maybe read up on why people thought it succeeded anyway.) It's also not necessary for every story; sometimes it's the right choice to consciously decide that you want to rely on particular pathways being there. (This is, like, literally the foundation of 90% of fanfiction. We can write "Twilight Sparkle" and activate a billion pathways in readers' brains, rather than spend thousands of words carefully crafting our magical purple winged unicorn OC.) To get back to this particular story, you could do literally nothing and it'll do well with a whole bunch of readers who are not me (and people upthread). Or you could pour your heart and soul into revisions, and maybe it'll move the needle? It's a legitimate question whether you're better off ripping this apart to please your critics (and/or everyone who's mentally comparing it to Toy Story 3) or not.
But it also might be worth trying to build that connection, because the reason you're getting "unoriginal" complaints is that they're not connecting. (I've read plenty of stories which were predictable start to finish, which nevertheless got me reacting with: "I knew exactly what was going to happen and I don't care.") If you draw your reader in with a sympathetic character or vivid setting or gripping thematic hook, the plot can be paint-by-numbers and it won't reduce reader enthusiasm. So one possible takeaway of lots of "unoriginal" complaints might be to work on those other story elements rather than trying to scrap the plot arc you've got and tell a new story.
Anyway, hope that rambling helps someone. Re direct feedback, nothing really to offer; re scoring, I can't fault this for anything but it's also not sticking the landing on any of the sorts of daring leaps or compelling hooks that distinguish top contenders for me (see previous paragraph wrt some of those missing elements). So it'll probably end up high middle-slate.
Thanks for writing, and good luck with this. I know it sucks to get this much faint praise with no real actionable feedback ("write something else" is rather un-actionable in terms of how to fix your story in editing).
Tier: Strong (but see above wrt my voting and personal reaction)
EDIT: Didn't see !Hat's comment before posting. Yes, agency (and the lack of protagonist growth) is absolutely a major factor of my own disconnection here.