All Day, Everyday.

by Penanka72

Interlude 2 - The Advise, The Respite and The Personal Matter.

Author's Note:

Hey! I'd like to thank you all for reading this far, I'm happy that a lot of people have take interest in my story so far. Its been a joy!

Interlude 2.

Fluttershy’s mind was a dark labyrinth, her thoughts ensnared by the haunting spectre of her past. As she navigated the aisles of the new gardening store, her actions were automatic, her gaze vacant. She filled her cart with an array of items—decorations, seeds, fertilizers—without a glance at their prices, her movements robotic and detached. She left the store to a scattering of puzzled looks, her cart overloaded, her wallet depleted.

Yet, her focus was relentlessly drawn back to the simple thought of playing hoofball with Aurora. The idea churned her stomach, her hands clammy and cold as they clutched the handles of her shopping bags. Her head was bowed, her awareness of her surroundings blurred and distant.

The weight of that fateful night has clung to Fluttershy like a shadow, an ever-present reminder of a past she wishes she could escape. Only a select few—Rainbow Dash, her parents, Applejack, Twilight, and a couple of others—are aware of the deep scars it left on her psyche. To them, she’s confided the harrowing details, the guilt, and the raw pain that lingers. But to the rest of the world, she remains an enigma, her cheerful exterior masking the turmoil within.

Fluttershy has never sought pity or comfort from others regarding this incident. Her desire has always been to bury these memories, to move on without the burden of others’ sympathy or the well-meaning but often painful attempts at consolation. She’s built walls around her emotions, creating a sanctuary of solitude where she can try to heal in her own way, at her own pace.

However, attending the Toffees’ match with Aurora had unexpectedly torn down those carefully constructed barriers. The vibrant energy of the stadium, the intense focus on the field, the collective breaths held in anticipation—all of it mirrored too closely the environment of that life-altering game. The past that Fluttershy thought she had locked away surged back with overwhelming force, stirring emotions she believed were long subdued.

She was plummeting back into a grim episode, her psyche enveloped by the shadows of that night—an indelible scar on her memory. It’s a night she could never forget no matter how much she tries.

---

In the Semifinals of the Hoofball Association Tournament Cup, the harsh glare of the stadium lights of Old Hoofford, a stadium that has seen many victories and losses, Fluttershy recalled the overwhelming smell of sweat mingling with the crisp night air. Sweat dripped from her nose, each drop a testament to the gruelling pace of the game. She was panting heavily, each breath a laboured gasp as she struggled to keep her composure amidst the cacophony of chants and shouts that reverberated around the stadium. The noise was so intense that the rapid beating of her heart was drowned out, leaving her feeling both isolated and eerily detached in the midst of the roaring crowd.

In that chaotic whirlwind of emotion and physical exertion, Fluttershy had stolen a moment to look up at the scoreboard. The glowing digits were stark against the night, declaring the score tied at 1-1. It was the 90+5 minute—the game’s dying seconds—and the tension was palpable, the air thick with anticipation and the weight of impending finality. The stadium, a colossal amphitheater of hopes and dreams, seemed to pulse with the collective heartbeat of thousands, each spectator caught in the grip of suspense as the final moments unfolded.

Applejack’s voice cut sharply through the noise, commanding and clear, making Fluttershy snap to her tone. “COME ON!!! KEEP YOUR FOCUS!” Her hands clapped together sharply, sending a resonating echo as she spurred her Fluttershy on. With determined strides, she sprinted off to join the fray in the defensive line. Even at 19, wearing the captain’s armband, Applejack’s presence on the field was commanding. Her leadership shone brightly, embodying the spirit of a true leader—inspiring, decisive, and unyielding in the face of pressure. Her youthful energy and strategic acumen were already the stuff of budding legend, guiding her team with a maturity that belied her years.

The pony on the ball was unforgettable for Fluttershy. His mane, an untamed blaze of yellow, blue, and red, trailed behind him like flames as he danced with the ball at his feet. The vibrant stripes of his jersey seemed to pulse with life, echoing the dynamic sweeps of colour in his tail. His golden eyes, alight with fierce determination and a playful glint, held the essence of the game’s thrill under the expansive black of the night sky. Each move he made was infused with a joyful vigour, captivating everyone in the stadium with his remarkable flair and spirit. It was Ottar, not just any player, but a cherished friend. Yet, on that night, he stood as her adversary, weaving through the game with a spellbinding grace that was as heartrending as it was mesmerising for Fluttershy.

The final seconds ticked away under the stadium lights, each heartbeat pounding in Fluttershy’s ears as she raced back from a failed offensive push. Encouraged by Applejack’s fierce leadership, she positioned herself strategically just outside the box, ready to start any counterattack. But as Ottar surged forward, a blur of vibrant colours and unchecked determination, he dodged around Applejack with a deft feint that left her grasping at air.

The crowd’s roar was deafening, a tumultuous sea of sound that enveloped the field, yet in Fluttershy’s ears, it was a distant echo. Her focus was laser-sharp on Ottar as he danced past defenders with an ethereal grace, his golden eyes alight with the fire of competition. The blue aura that seemed to emanate from him only heightened his spectral presence on the field, rendering him almost untouchable as he wove through Blaze and spun past Nightstalker with mesmerising agility.

As Ottar skilfully nutmegged Iron Hoof, leaving only Pinkie Pie between him and the goal, Fluttershy’s resolve hardened. The final seconds, the culmination of all their efforts, hung precariously in the balance. Her body surged forward, propelled by a mix of adrenaline and sheer willpower, even as her muscles screamed with the strain of the match’s exertions. She knew this was the moment—the pivotal clash that could seal their fate or send them spiralling into defeat.

With every stride, Fluttershy’s desire to secure victory intensified, morphing into a visceral need that clouded her judgment. As she closed in on Ottar, time seemed to stretch into an agonising slow motion. She saw her chance, a narrow window to dispossess him and force the match into penalties. Her dive was desperate, a last-ditch effort fuelled by a torrent of emotions.

But as she launched herself forward, Ottar’s stride shifted—the timing just a fraction off. Her heart sank in horror as realisation dawned too late. Instead of striking the ball, her knee collided brutally with Ottar’s knee. Then she heard the trigger to her nightmares through the roaring crowd, her thumping heart, the blow of the whistle and her own groans of agony. A sound that has scarred her for life.

Pop!

---

Fluttershy’s breath caught sharply in her throat, the echo of that horrific pop reverberating in her mind, amplifying her terror. Her heart thundered against her chest, an erratic drumroll that drowned out the surrounding noises. Her eyes, wide with the vivid recall of that night, shrank to mere slivers of terror as the scene replayed with cruel clarity.

In her haste to escape the engulfing memory, she stumbled backward, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. A sharp, unexpected twist sent a jolt of pain through her knee, mirroring the old injury with eerie precision. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she crumpled to the ground, the shopping bags tumbling from her grasp, their contents spilling out like scattered memories.

Her hands flew to her knee, grasping it tightly as a sharp hiss of pain escaped her lips. The pain was both a stark reminder of the past and a piercing intrusion into the present, leaving her breathless and reeling on the cold, unforgiving surface.

Fluttershy’s fingers hesitated over her knee, the barest touch bringing memories crashing like waves. Now, as she sat alone, every slight twist or careless movement shot pain sharp as ice through her, the damage to her ACL and MCL a physical tether to that night. The pain wasn’t just a reminder but a punishment she had come to accept. It was her own body betraying her, yet she felt it was deserved—a constant, agonising atonement for the damage she’d inflicted, not just on her body, but on a friendship she cherished. Each grimace, each sharp intake of breath when her knee buckled, was a small penance she paid, over and over, the guilt weaving through her days and nights, inescapable as the shadow she walked in.

As dusk faded into the deep blues of early evening, Fluttershy paused, confusion clouding her features. She looked around, her eyes wide as she slowly realised she was not on her usual path home. Instead, she found herself standing in an open apple orchard on a hill, the cool air carrying the faint scent of ripening apples. The tranquil rustle of leaves and distant chirps of evening birds were a stark contrast to the rush of memories flooding her mind.

She blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The hill overlooked the familiar sight of the Toffees’ training ground, a place etched deeply in her memory. The setting sun cast long shadows over the neatly trimmed grass, making the white lines of the pitch glow eerily under the awakening floodlights. The high, metallic fence surrounding the area stood as a stark reminder of countless days spent chasing dreams within its boundaries.

“Why am I here?” Fluttershy murmured to herself, her voice barely audible above the gentle wind. She felt a strange disconnection, as if part of her had walked this path without her conscious decision, led by a deeper, unresolved ache. The training ground, vibrant and alive with the echo of athletes’ shouts and the thud of balls, now seemed like a distant world she had once belonged to—a world that both thrilled and pained her.

Confusion gave way to a rush of nostalgia and sorrow as she stood once the pain subsided, lost in the landscape of her former passions. It was as if the very field pulled at the threads of her memories, each blade of grass, each line marking the pitch, a reminder of what had been lost. Her heart ached with the familiarity of it all, each echo of the place whispering of a past that could no longer be reached.

Under the growing shadows of dusk, Fluttershy’s gaze was caught by a familiar figure emerging from the changing room. The silhouette was unmistakable: the western black shirt, tight-fitting black jeans, and the iconic brown stetson hat that Applejack wore as though it was a part of her. In her hand, she carried a hoofball, casually tossing it before taking it to the pitch.

Fluttershy watched, frozen in place, as Applejack began to play. She started with kick-ups, the ball barely making a sound as it met her boots, then transitioned into a series of step-overs, quick turns, and deft touches. Each movement was fluid, each step filled with an easy mastery that spoke of years perfecting these basic skills. Applejack moved across the field with an effortless grace, a reminder of her renowned talent as one of the finest defensive midfielders in hoofball history.

From her hidden spot on the hill, Fluttershy felt a mix of admiration and a pang of loss. Watching Applejack was like stepping back in time, to days filled with laughter, shouts, and the thud of balls against boots. The sight stirred old memories and dreams, the sharpness of which surprised her.

Watching Applejack manoeuvre the ball with such ease, Fluttershy couldn’t help but think that Applejack could easily return to professional hoofball. Despite the years, she remained in peak physical condition, her movements on the field as sharp and precise as ever. In Fluttershy’s eyes, there was no doubt—if Applejack decided to come back, she would stand shoulder to shoulder with the best, rivalling even Rainbow Dash in skill and prowess.

Her transition from a celebrated midfield dominator to the manager of the Toffees was a tale tinged with both necessity and misfortune.

The shift had been abrupt, propelled by a cascade of misfortunes that seemed to unravel the fabric of the team she loved. It began with the injuries to Fluttershy, a devastating blow not just to the team’s lineup but to its spirit. Fluttershy’s accident on the pitch was a turning point, a moment that marked the beginning of a challenging era for the Toffees.

After Granny Smith, the seasoned and much-loved manager, stepped down, her departure felt like the end of an era. Her successor, brought in with high hopes, failed to gel with the team, unable to steer the ship through turbulent waters. The team’s performance faltered, injuries plagued the roster, and the morale dipped lower with each passing game.

The situation worsened when Twilight, suggested to be the best player in the world at the time, a key player known for her strategic mind on the field, was suddenly banned from professional play due to her new status as an alicorn, leaving a gap that couldn’t easily be filled. The sense of loss was palpable, and one by one, players began to seek opportunities elsewhere, unwilling to remain part of a sinking legacy.

In the midst of this decline, Applejack faced a pivotal decision. With the team’s legacy and her grandmother’s hard work at stake, she stepped up, taking on the mantle of manager in an effort to salvage what could be saved. It was a role she had never aspired to but accepted out of sheer determination to preserve the team’s honour and rebuild what had been lost.

Now, as Applejack continued to manoeuvre the ball across the pitch, each movement was a reminder of what could have been. The ease with which she controlled the game, even in these casual, solitary moments, underscored the potential cut short by circumstance.

Fluttershy watched from the sidelines, her heart heavy with a mix of admiration and sorrow. Applejack’s presence there was a testament to resilience, but it also spoke volumes of the sacrifice she had made—giving up the game she excelled in to shoulder a burden that was never meant to be hers.

Moved by the scene and overwhelmed by a surge of longing and unresolved feelings, Fluttershy felt a compelling urge to reconnect, to share her burdens with somepony who truly understood the weight of what had been lost. Gathering her strength and the bags scattered around her, she slowly made her way down to the field, each step towards Applejack a step towards confronting the ghosts of their once brilliant careers together. As the distance closed, the floodlit pitch seemed to glow a bit brighter, a silent arena for confessions and perhaps, a new understanding.

Stepping onto the pitch, Fluttershy felt the familiar crunch of artificial grass underfoot, a sensation that whisked her back in time. The air around her shifted, infused with a fresh, almost ethereal quality unique to the field—a scent of green, of open space, that she hadn’t breathed in for years. It was as if the pitch operated in its own dimension, where past glories and painful memories mingled in the cool evening air.

With each hesitant step, Fluttershy’s anxiety mingled with a growing sense of desperation. She needed to reconnect, to seek advice from the one who had once guided her through matches and life’s challenges alike—her former captain, Applejack.

As Fluttershy drew closer to the field, she noted how Applejack’s keen senses had not dulled; the former midfielder turned to protect the ball instinctively, her body positioning defensive yet graceful. Seeing it was Fluttershy, Applejack’s stance softened, a warm smile replacing her initial caution. “Oh, Howdy, Fluttershy. Didn’t expect to see you around these parts. It’s good to see you.” she said, her voice infused with genuine pleasure at the sight of her old friend.

Fluttershy’s heart lightened at the sight of Applejack’s welcoming gesture, her nerves easing with familiarity. “It’s good to see you too, AJ. And don’t worry, I’m not looking to take your hoofball.” she replied with a playful giggle, acknowledging the humorous overprotectiveness Applejack displayed over the hoofball.

Applejack chuckled, relaxing her guard and allowing her usual easy-going demeanour to shine through. “So, what brings you here, Fluttershy? It’s been some time since you came to visit.” she inquired with a gentle curiosity, stepping towards Fluttershy and leaving the ball resting quietly on the grass.

Fluttershy hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on the ball before meeting Applejack’s earnest eyes. “Well—after all this time, I just wanted to talk to you, catch up with an old friend, y’know. Would that be okay? I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” Her voice was soft and tentative, a mix of shyness and a deep-seated respect for Applejack’s time.

“Not at all.” Applejack reassured her with a smile, her tone conveying both warmth and openness. “I was just taking a break, having some time to myself. I’m always here for you, Fluttershy. So, what’s on your mind?” Her invitation was heartfelt, emphasising that for Fluttershy, she was fully present, ready to listen and support her friend in whatever was weighing on her heart.

Fluttershy and Applejack quickly found their old rhythm, their conversation flowing as easily as it had in their playing days. Applejack was considerate in her topics, choosing light and humorous stories that brought forth gentle laughter from Fluttershy. They reminisced about times spent together outside the rigorous demands of hoofball, their shared memories a balm to Fluttershy’s spirits.

Sitting together at the centre of the pitch, the overhead floodlights cast a warm glow around them, creating an intimate bubble in the expansive field. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them, isolated from everything else. Fluttershy appreciated the maturity and thoughtfulness Applejack brought to their interaction, contrasting pleasantly with Rainbow Dash’s casual demeanour and Aurora’s boundless energy. In this quiet space, with the soft hum of the night and the distant lights of the city flickering beyond the stadium walls, Fluttershy felt a sense of peace and connection she hadn’t realised she’d been missing or needed.

Fluttershy propped herself up on one arm, her legs neatly tucked beneath her as she gazed across at Applejack, curiosity lighting her features. “Oh, I caught a bit of the second half of your match today. How did it end?”

Applejack, lying on her side with one knee bent, supported her head with her hand. Her eyes sparkled with the intensity of the game’s memory. “It was quite the match, Fluttershy. We clinched it in the final moments from a free kick. Scootaloo hit the crossbar, and in the scramble that followed, Bon Bon accidentally set up Vinyl for a bicycle kick. It was a tough, well-fought victory.”

She paused, her expression shifting as she added, “Unfortunately, we did have a downside—Thunderlane picked up a muscle injury. It’s pretty serious, he might be out for a while. I’m hoping he’ll recover in a few months. For now, we might move Scootaloo into the number ten role and look around in the transfer market for some additional depth at the end of the season.” Applejack’s voice trailed off as she suddenly remembered who she was speaking to. “Sorry, Fluttershy. I shouldn’t have—”

Fluttershy quickly waved off the apology, though her smile was tinged with a hint of sadness. “No, no, it’s okay. Talking about injuries is one thing, it’s just… seeing somepony on the ground, hurt—it’s hard for me. I do hope Thunderlane recovers quickly.” Her voice was sincere, though a shadow crossed her face at the memory of pain—both physical and emotional. She shook her head slightly, dispelling the creeping shadows as best she could.

“He’ll be okay.” she reassured, referring to Thunderlane. “He’s tough, won’t let this setback keep him down. He’s a good lad like that.” Fluttershy nodded, absorbing the words, her gaze fixed on the heavens above, letting the serene quiet of the night envelop them.

Both of them lay back fully, mirroring each other’s posture—eyes toward the sky, hands resting behind their heads, legs crossed at the ankles in a pose of relaxed contemplation. Applejack closed her eyes for a moment, letting the calm of the night seep into her bones. After a peaceful pause, she opened her eyes and turned her head slightly towards Fluttershy, her voice low but clear in the quiet.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her tone soft yet carrying an underlying strength. Fluttershy’s response was a momentary silence, her face clouded with a frown as she digested the question. Applejack continued, her words slow and deliberate. “Granny Smith used to say, ‘What happens on the pitch, stays on the pitch.’ It’s a way of saying that on the field, players show their true selves in every tackle, shot, and pass—they leave it all out there. And it’s true, you know? Whatever you feel, whatever you need to express or let go of… you can do it here. You’re safe with me, Fluttershy. You can talk about anything.”

A shiver ran through Fluttershy at the invitation, her emotions bubbling to the surface. She took a deep, trembling breath, the rawness of her feelings evident. This was exactly what she needed—a chance to open up, to share the weight of her memories and the burden of her regrets with somepony who could offer more than just comfort, but guidance. Though Rainbow Dash was always there to support her, Fluttershy felt that Applejack’s perspective as a fellow athlete, one who had seen many sides of the game, might offer the insight she desperately sought.

Applejack’s words, grounded in the wisdom passed down from her granny, reminded Fluttershy of the power of sharing and healing. Here, in the familiar expanse of the training ground, with a trusted friend and former captain, Fluttershy felt a stirring of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to reconcile with her past on this very field where it all began.

Fluttershy’s voice was hesitant as she turned towards Applejack, her eyes searching for reassurance. “Okay… I’ll talk. But—can you be patient with me?” she asked, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Applejack’s response was a gentle smile, encouraging and warm. She shifted slightly, propping her head on her hand as she moved a bit closer, nodding silently. Her presence, comforting and steady, seemed to anchor Fluttershy.

Taking a deep breath, Fluttershy exhaled slowly, steadying her nerves. She was about to share something deeply personal, a secret held close for too long. “Well, what I’m going to tell you is something I’ve never told anypony before.” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a blush tinted her cheeks.

---

The evening before the semi-final match was filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. Fluttershy’s room at the upscale hotel near Old Hoofford stadium buzzed with her preparations. She meticulously checked her gear: backpack, boots, shin pads, pre-match clothing, water bottle, pre-energy drink—all accounted for. Double-checked, then triple-checked, ensuring nothing vital was forgotten for tomorrow’s big game against Mare United. Her heart fluttered with nerves and excitement—a sensation Pinkie Pie dubbed ‘nervouscited.’

Clad in her nightgown, Fluttershy was about to slip under the blankets when a soft knock at her door paused her movement. She froze, heart skipping a beat. Who could it be at this hour? Curiosity mixed with a twinge of concern as she tiptoed to the door, her movements whisper-quiet. Peering through the peephole, her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t Rainbow Dash or Applejack, as she had expected, but Ottar.

In a swift motion, she flung the door open and, with a surprising amount of strength, pulled him inside. “Ottar! What are you doing here! You know you can’t be here, right? The match is tomorrow!” she hissed, her voice a frantic whisper. Her eyes darted nervously along the hallway as she quickly shut the door, ensuring they weren’t seen.

“I know, I know, Shy, it’s just—as a friend, I wanted to check up on you, see how you’re feeling before the big day tomorrow.” Ottar explained, his Hisponya accent thick with a playfully teasing tone, his little nickname make her blush. “And to also see you in your nightgown might have been on my things to see before I di-OW!”

“Pervert!” Fluttershy’s voice was sharp but still hushed as she delivered a swift karate chop to his head, her demeanour more cross than amused. She turned her back to him, a clear sign of her disapproval, his typical flirtations unwelcome at such a critical time.

“Ah, I’m just teasing, Shy.” Ottar chuckled, rubbing his head where she’d struck him.

“Well, stop teasing and get some sleep! Your team is counting on you to be at your best, not knocking on mares’ doors at night!” Fluttershy’s whisper was fierce, a quiet storm brewing in her words.

“Oh, if you insist.” Ottar replied, his voice carefree. He then leaped onto her bed with the grace of a startled cat, pulling the covers over his head and dramatically feigning sleep, complete with over-the-top snoring sounds.

Fluttershy’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and irritation as she rolled her eyes. “Ottar! You know that’s not what I meant! Get out! Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out, get out, get out!” she demanded, each command punctuated with a downward strike of her fists onto the mischievous stallion who still pretended to be asleep beneath her sheets, occasionally peeking one eye open to gauge her reaction with a mischievous grin.

Ottar’s teasing continued as he watched Fluttershy’s cheeks redden further. “You’re cute when you get all worked up.” he commented, a playful glint in his eye.

“Shut up! I know you’ve said that to other mares!” Fluttershy retorted, her voice a mix of irritation and embarrassment. “You’re so frustrating!”

“Alright, alright, I surrender.” Ottar chuckled, holding up his hands in mock defeat as he sat up from the bed. He swung his legs to sit on the edge, his demeanour shifting as he added, “But actually, there’s another reason I came.” His tone took on a serious edge, surprising Fluttershy with its sudden gravity.

Fluttershy’s expression shifted to concern. “What’s wrong, Ottar? Is something the matter?”

He hesitated, looking away before shaking his head slowly. “Well—yes…” His voice trailed off, and he stared at the floor, uncharacteristically uncertain. “It’s just… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Something important.”

Seeing him this vulnerable was unusual, and it stirred a protective instinct in Fluttershy. “You can tell me anything, you know that.” she reassured him, patting the bed next to her. Ottar moved to sit closer, his fingers twiddling nervously, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for the right words.

“I… I don’t even know how to start. This isn’t something I’ve had to confess before.” Ottar admitted, his voice faltering a bit, which was so unlike his usual confident self.

Fluttershy scooted closer, wrapping her arms around him from behind in a comforting embrace. She rested her chin on his shoulder, lending him her warmth and presence. “Take all the time you need. I’m here.” she whispered softly.

Ottar exhaled deeply, leaning back into her embrace. His hands found hers, pressing them gently against his stomach. “Thank you, Shy.” he murmured, his eyes closing as he savoured the moment of closeness.

After a silent pause, where only the soft hum of the hotel air conditioner filled the room, Ottar spoke up again, his voice steadier. “I think I’m ready now.” he said, prompting Fluttershy to hum in response, an auditory nod that she was listening.

“Could you… close your eyes for a moment? It might make this easier.” Ottar requested, a hint of nervous anticipation in his tone.

“Of course.” Fluttershy replied, trusting him enough to shut her eyes. She felt him shift slightly away from her, breaking their physical connection. She waited patiently, her mind racing with possibilities of what could weigh so heavily on him.

Suddenly, a soft, unexpected pressure touched her lips. Her eyes snapped open in shock, her heart hammering against her ribcage as she found Ottar kissing her. The gentle kiss, laden with unsaid emotions and unspoken confessions, left her stunned, her mind reeling as Ottar pulled back slightly, searching her eyes for a reaction.

Fluttershy’s hand flew to her mouth, a mix of astonishment and vulnerability flashing across her face as Ottar’s searching eyes sought her reaction. Seeing his look of disappointment as he misunderstood her stunned silence for rejection, he turned away, his voice soft and regretful. “I’m sorry… I should have told you how I felt instead. I’ll go now.” he whispered, his hand reaching for the door, his figure deflated.

Her heart hammered against her ribcage, a cascade of emotions swirling within her—surprise, confusion, but underneath it all, a burgeoning warmth that she hadn’t expected. As Ottar’s hand touched the door handle, a sudden fear of losing this unforeseen connection gripped her. Driven by a surge of boldness she rarely felt, Fluttershy found her voice.

“Ottar, wait…” The words tumbled out, halting him mid-motion. He turned back, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. Fluttershy’s breath caught in her throat as she crossed the room in tentative steps, her heart dictating her actions now.

Reaching him, she stood on her tiptoes, mirroring his earlier gesture with a gentle, exploratory kiss that spoke of her hidden, tender feelings. It was a kiss born of yearning and discovery, a silent confession of the heart she had kept guarded for so long.

As they parted, Ottar’s stunned expression slowly transformed into one of dawning joy, his initial shock giving way to a deep, resonant affection. “Shy… I—”

“Please, don’t leave.” she whispered urgently, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, the emotional weight of the moment pressing down on her. Her vulnerability was palpable, her voice thick with emotion as she pleaded with him to stay.

Ottar’s heart melted at her plea, his hands tenderly cradling her face as he wiped away the tears that now freely flowed. Fluttershy leaned into his touch, craving the comfort and reassurance it offered, her hands gripping his with a quiet desperation.

“I’m not going anywhere, Shy. I’m right here.” Ottar reassured her softly, his words a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. He leaned in once more, his kiss now full of promise and passion, a pledge of his presence and support. Their bodies drew together naturally, instinctively, as they moved back towards the bed, enveloped in the warmth of their newfound closeness. In that moment, with the world outside fading away, Fluttershy felt a profound connection to Ottar, their shared vulnerability forging a bond that felt destined to endure with each kiss and each breath. It was a night Fluttershy could never forget.

---

“So, that’s how Ottar claimed my first kiss—and m-my first t-time.” Fluttershy confessed, her cheeks aflame with a deep blush.

Applejack’s eyes widened in mock astonishment as she teased, “Well, butter my biscuit, our very own Toffee legend got cozy with Mare United’s captain the night before a semi-final match! And here I thought that creaking was just the old hotel settling in.” She chuckled, her expression a mix of surprise and mirth. “Gotta say, I never pegged you for such a daring move, Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy squeaked in embarrassment, her face hidden behind her flowing pink mane. “Applejack!”

Undeterred, Applejack leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, how was it? Gentle? Intense? Give me the juicy details!”

Fluttershy’s mane seemed to steam with her embarrassment. “Please, let’s not.” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper.

Applejack let out a soft, understanding laugh, deciding not to push her friend further. “Alright, alright, enough fooling around. But tell me, was it out of love?” Her tone softened, showing genuine curiosity.

“Yes.” Fluttershy responded without hesitation, her voice firm yet soft. “It wasn’t love at first sight, but he charmed me, drove me nuts with his flirting, and yes, his way on the field… well, let’s just say he played as passionately as he lived.” She smiled faintly, her eyes distant with the memory.

Fluttershy’s eyes traced the contours of the familiar pitch as she murmured, her voice carrying a mix of admiration and wistfulness. “It’s hard to describe, but Ottar had a way with the ball that was almost… flirtatious. The way he moved, how he passed, and especially his shots—there was a sort of charisma to his play. He could be intensely focused yet always managed to keep that playful smile. Have you ever seen somepony so dialled in yet still visibly enjoying every moment like that?”

Applejack’s eyebrow arched, her smile spreading as she grasped the essence of Fluttershy’s memories. “Charismatic? Now I know how you fell for him. No, I wouldn’t say charismatic, I’d say he was more than that. It seems like he completed the game. It wasn’t just charm; you fell for his respect and passion for the game. From your first encounter, you began to mirror his style, adapting his techniques into your own repertoire in a way that was uniquely yours.”

She continued, her tone reflective and encouraging. “Take the half-turn, for instance. Before you met him, you’d typically choose the safest pass under pressure. But after meeting Ottar, you started incorporating that move more, turning with the ball, losing your player under pressure, and even setting up crucial plays.”

Fluttershy nodded, a soft blush tinting her cheeks as she acknowledged the truth in Applejack’s words. “He really did influence my play.” she admitted, a gentle smile touching her lips.

“Your confidence too.” Applejack added. “Back at the academy, I remember how you used to second-guess each move, which sometimes led to turnovers. But after Ottar, your confidence seemed to surge. It wasn’t just your skills improving—it was your belief in those skills.”

Fluttershy’s smile grew a little as she looked away, her gaze distant but fond. “Yes, I idolised him greatly. He made me see the beauty in every dribble and every pass. He was… perfect.” she said, her voice tinged with a quiet sadness.

Applejack’s expression softened, a gentle firmness in her tone. “Fluttershy, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. You took inspiration from him, sure, but the growth was all you.”

Fluttershy shook her head slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe. But after the incident, I don’t like giving myself any credit.” Her eyes clouded with a deep, lingering sadness.

Seeing her friend’s struggle, Applejack moved closer, her voice earnest. “It’s time to let go of that guilt, Fluttershy. What happened was a tragedy, but torturing yourself won’t change the past.”

Fluttershy remained silent, tears welling up in her eyes as the weight of years of guilt seemed to press down on her. As the tears began to spill, Applejack drew her into a firm, supportive embrace, her own eyes misting with empathy.

“Holding in so much pain isn’t healthy, darling. Let it out.” Applejack whispered, her embrace tightening just enough to offer both comfort and strength.

They pulled back slightly, Applejack smiling reassuringly through her tears, her forehead pressed against Fluttershy’s. “If you ever need to talk, or if it all gets too much, I’m right here. Anytime, no matter what.” she promised, her smile warm and unwavering in the cool night air.

After a while, the tears subsided and the emotional weight lifted slightly thanks to Applejack’s comforting presence. As Fluttershy regained her composure, Applejack gently suggested that Fluttershy could stay at the farm for the night. However, Fluttershy politely declined, explaining that she needed to get home to take care of her animal friends. Recognising the darkness that had enveloped Ponyville, and wanting to ensure her friend’s safety, Applejack offered to drive Fluttershy home in her truck. Grateful for the thoughtful offer, Fluttershy accepted, assuring it was no trouble.

Together, they walked to Applejack’s truck, parked under the shadow of the stadium’s floodlights. The drive was quiet but comfortable, filled with the soft hum of the engine and the occasional flicker of streetlights passing by. Applejack took the familiar roads to Fluttershy’s cottage, each turn bringing them closer to the quaint, welcoming home nestled on the outskirts of Ponyville. As they pulled up to the cottage, the warm glow from the windows cast a soothing light into the night.

As Fluttershy reached for the truck door handle to leave, Applejack’s voice stopped her, firm and thoughtful. “Fluttershy.” she said, her eyes lingering on the shadowed road lit only by the truck’s headlights.

Fluttershy paused and turned back, an inquiring look on her face. “Yes?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of concern.

Applejack took a deep breath, her expression serious as she contemplated her next words. “I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been going through… It sounds to me like you’re searching for closure more than anything else.” she began, her tone gentle yet earnest. “My advice? It might help to find Ottar and talk things through. It could change a lot for you.”

Fluttershy’s expression shifted to one of apprehension. “I… I’m not sure I’m ready to face him just yet. Plus, I don’t even know where he is now.” she confessed, her voice a soft murmur laden with uncertainty.

Applejack nodded, understandingly, her hand resting reassuringly on Fluttershy’s shoulder. “Last I heard, Ottar was up in the Crystal Empire, surrounded by his family and friends. They’ve been taking good care of him.” she shared. “When the moment feels right for you, maybe you could reach out. Just think about it, okay?”

Fluttershy absorbed her friend’s words, a mix of anxiety and hope flickering across her features. She nodded slowly, the weight of the decision clear in her eyes. “Okay, Applejack. I’ll think about it.” she agreed, her voice stronger, reflecting a tentative resolve.

“Take care, Fluttershy. And remember, you’re always welcome to visit. The door’s always open.” Applejack added with a warm smile as Fluttershy stepped out of the truck.

As Fluttershy closed the door behind her, Applejack rolled down the window, adding one last piece of advice. “And hey, give Amelia my regards. Also, consider signing the contract. She’s got a knack for the game, and we could really use somepony with her potential.”

Fluttershy chuckled softly, correcting her friend gently, “Her name is Aurora, and I’ll mention it to her. Thanks, Applejack.”

She retrieved her shopping bags from the back seat, giving Applejack a grateful nod. “I’ll think about the contract. I promise.” she promised, feeling the sincerity in her own words.

Applejack waved from the driver’s seat, a broad smile on her face as she pulled away, leaving Fluttershy in the quiet night. Alone now, Fluttershy adjusted her grip on her bags, her thoughts swirling with the night’s deep conversations as she walked the familiar path to her cottage, the soft glow of the porch light guiding her home.

---

In the midst of an endless, formless void, Discord perched himself in the solitary grandeur of Wembley Stadium, recreated down to the last detail. Here, he watched an epic showdown unfurl between cloned versions of the 2008 Barcelona team and the 2017 Real Madrid squad—teams that had once dominated the football world on Earth. He had meticulously researched and replicated each player, infusing the clones with the original athletes’ skills, personalities, and physical characteristics to ensure the game’s authenticity.

As the match played out on the lush green pitch, Discord sat alone in the stands, absorbed in the spectacle below. Unlike previous whims where he partook in the chaos, this time he chose to observe, allowing himself to fully experience the game’s flow and fervour from a spectator’s perspective.

The more he watched, the deeper his appreciation grew for the sport that seemed to captivate and influence millions. Football, he realised, was a form of chaos in its own right—unpredictable, thrilling, and wildly influential, perhaps even more so than his own antics. It was a deity of disorder, worshipped fervently across Amelia’s world, and as the game unfolded, Discord couldn’t help but wonder if, in its own realm, football was a more potent agent of chaos than he ever could be.

As Discord sensed an imposing aura materialize behind him, he swiveled around, his curiosity piqued. There, silhouetted against the backdrop of an ethereal glow, stood Princess Celestia. Today, however, she had opted for a rather unorthodox disguise, decked in a dark trench coat, a fedora, and sunglasses, resembling a noir film star avoiding the relentless paparazzi. Discord’s lips curled into an impish grin at the sight.

“Undercover or underwhelmed by royal fame today, Your Majesty?” Discord teased, his tone dripping with amusement.

With a graceful flick of her horn, Celestia dispelled her accessories, revealing her familiar, serene face. “It’s a small escape from the never-ending royal spectacle. One can only handle so many courtiers and ceremonies before craving anonymity.” she replied, descending to Discord’s level with a graceful fluidity that belied her fatigue, taking a seat next to him.

Discord chuckled, leaning back comfortably in his seat. “A royal’s life: an endless buffet of duties. I imagine your courses include public spectacles for appetisers, endless meetings as the main dish, and perhaps a sprinkle of royal functions for dessert? And here you are, sneaking in a snack of peace.” he quipped, his voice laced with a playful edge.

Exhaling deeply, Celestia slumped slightly, her posture less regal and more relatable. “If only it were as palatable as you make it sound.” she sighed, the weight of her crown momentarily forgotten as she enjoyed the rare pleasure of candid conversation with Discord.

After a brief silence, Celestia broke it, her gaze locked onto the game unfolding below. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the strange spectacle, her voice filled with curiosity and confusion. “Who’s playing? I don’t recognise the jersey colours or designs, nor the race of these creatures.” she said, her tone perplexed as she looked down at the odd, furless beings moving on the field.

“These, Your Highness, are humans in their true form.” Discord responded with a flourish, gesturing grandly toward the players. Celestia’s expression shifted into a side-eye glare, one brow arching suspiciously as she turned to face him.

“I suggest you return these humans to their rightful realm immediately, or there will be consequences.” Celestia warned, her voice cool and commanding, her eyes sharp as daggers. Discord let out a nervous chuckle, waving his hands dismissively.

“No, no, dear Celestia, you’ve misunderstood.” he began, attempting to reassure her. “These are merely clones of the original beings. It’s not as it seems.” He smiled, but Celestia’s skeptical hum indicated that she wasn’t fully convinced, though she returned her attention to the game below.

“I see…” she muttered after a pause, still clearly watching Discord from the corner of her eye.

Suddenly, the sound of a ball striking the back of the net echoed through the air, followed by an uproar of cheers from the players in white jerseys. They celebrated energetically as the goal scorer leaped into the air, twisting in midair before landing and shouting triumphantly, “SSSUUUUUUUUIIIIIII!” His teammates surrounded him, embracing him as the scoreboard updated. It was now 2-2 in the 50th minute, an early goal adding excitement to the second half.

“Who was that just now? His physique is remarkable.” Celestia marvelled, her attention now firmly on the athletic figure jogging back to his position.

“That, Celestia, is Cristiano Ronaldo.” Discord said proudly, clearly enjoying his role as the expert. “One of the two best football players in human history. I’ve done quite a bit of research on him. The sheer number of goals, assists, and accolades he’s achieved is something even Rainbow Dash could only dream of.” Discord continued, his tone brimming with admiration. “To put it in terms of Equestrian hoofball, Ronaldo has scored over 900 goals, provided more than 200 assists, and made over 1,200 appearances in his career. He’s won four Golden Boots, seven league titles across five different leagues—three of them in the Equestrian League. Not to mention, he’s won five Gala Union Leagues, two National Tournaments, and, most impressively, five Golden Ball awards. He’s simply astounding.”

Celestia’s eyes widened, her fingers absently rubbing her chin as she processed the incredible list of accomplishments. “My… that is quite the career.” she remarked, her voice filled with genuine wonder. Then, after a beat, she asked, “How much?”

“Pardon?” Discord blinked, caught off guard.

“How much for… C-Cristano Ronaldo, was it?” Celestia asked again, her tone now sharp, her business instincts clearly awakened.

“It’s Cristiano.” Discord corrected with a sigh, “and, unfortunately, this is just a clone. I wouldn’t dare bring the original here. Besides, he’s 39 now—well past his prime. Also, the player values in the human realm are absurdly inflated. The most valuable player here in Equis, Rainbow Dash, is valued at 2 million bits, which pales in comparison to human valuations.”

Celestia raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who’s the most valuable player in the human world?”

Discord’s grin widened as if he had been waiting for this. “Well, last I checked, it’s a tie between somepony named Erling Haaland and Vinicius Junior who are valued at—” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. Then, with a flourish, he plugged his ears with his fingers. “—200 million bits.”

“200 MILLION BITS?!” Celestia’s Canterlot voice boomed across the stadium as she shot to her feet, wings flaring dramatically. Her voice echoed not once, not twice, but four times, reverberating around the entire stadium. The game below ground to a halt, the players covering their ears, looking up in shock. To Discord’s amusement, the referee blew his whistle and, without missing a beat, showed Celestia a yellow card. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she sat back down, allowing the game to resume.

Celestia cleared her throat, attempting to digest the eye-watering numbers. “200 million bits is quite the sum. These players must be extraordinary.” she observed, her gaze drifting back to the match.

“They’re talented, no doubt, but it’s the market that’s lost its marbles, not their actual skill.” Discord quipped, his voice laced with amusement. “In Equestrian terms, they’d maybe fetch between 750,000 to a million bits. Rainbow Dash, on the other hand, would run circles around them financially and on the field.”

Raising an eyebrow, Celestia gave Discord a curious look. “You’re suddenly quite the hoofball pundit. Last I checked, you preferred your own chaos over corner kicks.”

Grinning, Discord leaned back comfortably. “Ah, but even chaos theorists like myself can appreciate the unpredictable magic of a good match—especially when tutored by a particularly persuasive protégé. Consider it my latest… curiosity.”

“Hmm, this student must be quite special to turn your attention to the sport.” Celestia mused, her tone light yet intrigued.

“Absolutely.” Discord agreed with a nod, his eyes following the fluid movement of the players. Their conversation, once a minefield of power plays, now flowed easily, filled with gentle jests and mutual respect. They chatted about everything and nothing, finding common ground in their once-unlikely friendship.

As the game unfolded with thrilling displays from star players, Celestia’s enthusiasm grew, spurred by Discord’s colourful commentary. She decided to place a light-hearted bet, 100 bits on Real Madrid, charmed by their vibrant jerseys.

“Betting on fashion now, are we?” Discord teased, enjoying her spirited response to the game. “I’ll raise you with a bet on Barcelona—style and substance.”

Celestia chuckled, fully engaged now, cheering for Real Madrid with a novice’s zeal but royal flair, often shouting out players’ numbers and turning to Discord for names. The game was a vibrant tapestry of defence and attack, peppered with moments of brilliance from icons like Messi and Ronaldo, narrated by Discord’s witty insights.

In a dazzling display of skill and strategy, the Barcelona midfield orchestrated a sublime series of plays against their arch-rivals, Real Madrid. The sequence began with a seamless link-up between Touré and Xavi, as they intricately navigated through the tight web of Madrid’s midfield. Under the pressing challenge of Casemiro, Xavi coolly found Messi on the right wing, setting the stage for a moment of brilliance.

Messi, with the ball at his feet, faced Marcelo head-on. He unleashed a flurry of swift step-overs, his feet a blur, sending Marcelo reeling in uncertainty. With a deceptive feint, he drew Marcelo out of position and swiftly cut to his left from the right corner of the box to drift near the ear to the centre of the Madrid box. Casemiro, already cautioned with a yellow, hesitated, unable to close down quickly enough without risking a second booking. Messi’s manoeuvre left him trailing as he darted forward to confront Sergio Ramos.

Ramos, known for his uncompromising and aggressive defensive play, closed in on Messi, cutting off any potential forward passes or shots. His imposing presence forced Messi to reconsider his options. Recognising the tactical disadvantage of trying to outmuscle Ramos in a dribble, Messi opted to distribute the ball to Iniesta, who was positioned just outside the penalty area, waving eagerly for the pass.

Unseen by the scrambling Madrid defence, Iniesta had already spotted Thierry Henry’s stealthy run along the left flank. With impeccable timing and precision to keep Henry onside, Iniesta lofted a first-touch pass over the defenders. Henry, exploiting his superior speed, outpaced Carvajal and positioned himself to make a play on the ball.

Henry, a clinical finisher from the left wing couldn't chest the ball down to his feet, he knew Varane would be upon him in an instant but, he also couldn't go for goal from such a closed-down angle. So he did what he could only do, head it across the box in hopes someone would tap it in. Messi was there but Marcelo got back in time to mark him, Ramos was there too, anticipating the header as well as Casemiro. Iniesta and Xavi were just entering the box so they had no chance of reaching the ball. So as the ball sailed over the heads of Varane and Casemiro, it seemed destined for Ramos to clear. However, just as Ramos prepared to intercept, Samuel Eto’o surged forward. Leaping higher, he met the ball with a powerful header before Ramos could react. The force of the header sent the ball rocketing past Keylor Navas, who could only watch as it soared into the back of the net, culminating a brilliant team effort in a spectacular goal.

As Eto’o’s header found the back of the net, Discord erupted in cheers, with Celestia’s expression reflecting shock and dismay as the scoreboard changed to 3-2 in favour of Barcelona.

With the clock showing the 79th minute, there was still time for a potential comeback. Real Madrid pressed forward with determination, hoping to level the score. Barcelona’s defence, however, remained unyielding, skilfully thwarting Madrid’s efforts.

As the match entered added time, the intensity on the field increased. Madrid threw everything they had at Barcelona, but the defensive line, anchored by stalwarts like Piqué and Puyol, held firm against the onslaught.

Finally, the referee’s whistle at the 90+4 minute marked the end of the match. In this fantasy battle of eras, 2008 Barcelona triumphed over 2017 Real Madrid, a testament to the tactical genius and skill of that legendary team.

As the final whistle blew, marking Barcelona’s victory, Discord couldn’t contain a triumphant, almost smug grin. He held out a hand towards Celestia, palm up, the universal gesture for ‘pay up’. “Ah, Celestia, the sweet sound of victory—and it seems it rings in bits today!” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with gleeful arrogance.

Celestia, though slightly annoyed, couldn’t help but let out a resigned sigh, reaching into her ethereal coat pocket to pull out a small pouch that jingled with the promise of gold. “I must admit, your team played well. But remember, it’s just a game.” she chided, dropping the bits into his waiting hand with a gentle clink.

“Oh, but what a game it was! And let’s not forget, a bet’s a bet.” Discord teased, his tail flicking playfully as he pocketed the winnings. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he watched her expression, clearly enjoying the rare opportunity to needle the usually unflappable princess.

Celestia rolled her eyes, a small smile betraying her feigned irritation. “You enjoy this far too much.” she remarked, her tone light despite her words. “But I suppose a little humility serves me well.”

Discord laughed heartily, his usual antics softened by the friendly banter. “Oh, come now, Celestia. It’s all in good fun. And let’s be honest, isn’t it refreshing to step out of our roles and just enjoy a simple game of football?”

Celestia nodded, the corners of her mouth turning up in a genuine smile. “Indeed, it is.” she conceded. “Though next time, I might just pick the winning team based on more than just their jersey colour.”

“Yeah, not a very smart decision to pick a team just because their jersey colour matches your fur.” Discord chuckled, leaning back in his seat, feeling good about himself.

Celestia gracefully rose from her seat, the folds of her regal attire settling around her. She turned to Discord, her expression reflecting a mix of enjoyment and the return to her royal duties. “Discord, I must say, this was quite enlightening, and a delightful way to spend the evening.” she began, her tone warm but shifting towards a more serious timbre as she prepared to depart.

However, before stepping away, Celestia’s demeanour turned decidedly more solemn, her gaze locking onto Discord’s with an intensity that matched the gravity of her words. “There’s something you should know.” she said, pulling a sleek, flat-screened phone from her pocket—a item that would have been a stark contrast to the arcane artefacts typically associated with Equestrian magic a few years ago. “Since this device’s sudden appearance in Equestria two years ago, virtually every pony and their foal seems to own one now. No one knows its origin or the inventor, but it’s sparked quite the concern among the higher echelons of our government.”

She paused, allowing the weight of her words to sink in before continuing. “The Equestrian Minister has initiated a covert investigation, suspecting that this may be an artefact of human technology, which as you know, could have profound implications.” Her voice lowered, confiding, “And now, a new concern has arisen. A name—Amelia—has been circulating within intelligence briefs. It’s a foreign name here, one that doesn’t belong to any known pony breed or region within our lands. This Amelia is a young pegasus who has recently drawn the media’s attention while training with the Senior Toffee team.”

Celestia’s eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Discord’s reaction, her voice firm yet tinged with a hint of concern. “It’s possible her name might originate from places like Zebrica or the Kingdom of Griffonstone, yet there are whispers that it could be human. Discord, given your… unique history with causing a bit of chaos and your recent ventures into human worlds, I must ask directly—are you responsible for bringing humans into Equestria again?”

The air between them thickened with the tension of her question, as Celestia awaited his response, the seriousness of her inquiry evident in her poised stature and unwavering gaze.

Discord’s expression darkened slightly, his usually playful demeanour clouding over at the accusation, the light-hearted atmosphere of their sporting debate dissipating into the night air. He met Celestia’s earnest gaze with a skeptical arch of his brow. “Really, Celestia, dragging such a heavy conversation into what was a delightful evening? Is that truly why you came?”

Celestia, quick to respond, shook her head, her mane flowing gracefully with the motion. “I assure you, Discord, my visit was genuinely for respite. I cherish these moments of levity we share. But as a ruler, I cannot ignore the responsibilities that accompany my crown. I needed to address this matter before it escalates further, potentially leading to drastic measures by the Minister.”

Seeing the sincerity in her eyes, Discord’s features softened. He understood the delicate balance of her dual roles—both as a ruler and as an individual seeking a rare reprieve from her duties. Nodding, he accepted her explanation. “Alright, I appreciate the frankness, Celestia. As for the technology, I genuinely have no idea in its emergence here.” he assured her, waving a hand dismissively. “These modern gadgets are beyond even my usual antics.”

Celestia listened intently, her expression one of relief mixed with residual concern. “And what of Amelia? The girl has caught the eye of not just the sports community but now, seemingly, the gears of bureaucracy.”

Discord’s frown deepened thoughtfully. “Amelia is indeed human, but I didn’t bring her here. Her arrival in Equestria is a mystery, even to me.” he admitted, a rare note of seriousness in his tone. “However, I assure you, I’ve been keeping a close eye on her integration and progress. She’s adapted remarkably well, blending into Equestrian society without causing the upheaval you might expect from a being of another world.”

Celestia nodded, absorbing his words. “That is comforting to hear, though we must remain vigilant. If she is to stay, it must not lead to unrest or diplomatic incidents. We’ll need to handle this delicately—perhaps someday I will meet this Amelia myself.” she mused, the wheels of governance turning behind her thoughtful gaze.

“As you wish, Celestia. But remember, Amelia is not just a subject of state intrigue—she’s a young individual far from her home.” Discord pointed out, his tone laced with empathy. “Let’s ensure her story here is one of friendship and acceptance, not fear and isolation.”

Celestia smiled softly, touched by Discord’s uncharacteristic show of compassion. “Of course, Discord. That’s the Equestrian way, after all.” Satisfied with their discussion, she stood, preparing to depart. “Thank you for your insights, and as always, for the respite.”

With a mischievous grin returning to his face, Discord called after her, “Anytime, Celestia! And do drop by for another game—next time, you might even win your bet back!”

Her laughter echoed back as she vanished, leaving Discord alone with his thoughts, contemplating the complexities of worlds colliding and the curious case of Amelia.

Discord’s frown deepened as he mulled over the ramifications of Celestia’s revelations. The notion that the Equestrian government was still actively investigating and potentially targeting humans like Amelia unsettled him greatly. Despite his chaotic nature, he felt a protective streak towards Amelia, who was inadvertently caught in the crosshairs of bureaucratic scrutiny.

As the reality of the situation settled in, Discord paced, his tail flicking irritably. He recognised the delicate balance that needed to be maintained—not just for Amelia’s safety but for the broader implications it could have on international relations within this world. The thought of other nations getting involved if Equestria mishandled this situation was troubling.

With a determined scowl, Discord conjured up a vision of the various political landscapes—Zebrica, the Griffin Kingdoms, even the distant lands beyond the known borders of Equestria. Each had its sensitivities and diplomatic ties with Equestria, ties that could be strained or even snapped by a misstep in handling a case like Amelia’s.

“I need to ensure that this doesn’t escalate beyond a simple investigation.” Discord muttered to himself, his voice a mix of frustration and resolve. “If the Equestrian government pushes too hard, they might not just be dealing with an upset chaos spirit but a full diplomatic incident.”

With a snap of his fingers, Discord vanished from the stadium, his mind set on gathering more information and possibly intervening directly. The stakes were higher now, and he knew he couldn’t allow the government—or anypony—to harm Amelia or exploit her presence for their agendas.

The air where he had been shimmered slightly, the echo of his determination lingering in the now-empty stands. Discord was ready to play a more active role, prepared to use his unique abilities and influence to safeguard Amelia.

---

Twilight Sparkle thrived on control. Every detail of her life, every moment of her day, was meticulously planned. From her morning routine to her future goals, nothing was left to chance. She found comfort in schedules, in the precision of managing her time, her team, and herself. Control was her safety net, her guide, her obsession. But being a manager, especially of the Reds, had a way of pushing even her limits.

Her workaholic tendencies, once a quiet hum in the background, had become a full-blown symphony ever since she took on the role. Twilight didn’t just manage her team—she lived and breathed hoofball. It wasn’t just about controlling her players’ movements on the pitch; it was about orchestrating every possible outcome, planning for every contingency. She would never leave a single stone unturned if it meant she could keep her team one step ahead of their opponents. The thought of leaving something to chance? Unthinkable.

Tonight was no different. The night wrapped around Twilight Sparkle’s study like a thick, comforting blanket, the only light in the room coming from her dimly lit desk lamp and the gentle glow of her magic. The world outside had settled into silence. Tomorrow’s game against Mare City loomed large in her mind, and the challenge it presented had her restless. Twilight sat at her desk, her elbows braced on the wooden surface, her chin resting on her intertwined fingers as she stared intently at the whiteboard in front of her. Her focus was absolute, even as her horn flickered with magic, moving the red and blue magnets into place.

The whiteboard was her battlefield, the magnets her soldiers. On one side, the Reds, her carefully constructed 4-2-3-1 formation. On the other, Mare City, in their tight 5-2-3 formation. Her quill scratched faintly against paper, jotting down observations, notes, tiny adjustments to her plan.

Her gaze flicked to the positioning of Mare City’s front line. No matter how much preparation she put into studying them, they always held an element of unpredictability. Their structure was deceiving, seemingly rigid, yet fluid enough to break apart even the most well-organised teams. Twilight had watched hours of their games—how they formed triangles, how their midfield rotated, how their wingbacks would suddenly surge forward to exploit any space her defence might leave open. But it wasn’t their structure that unnerved her—it was the players themselves.

Mare City wasn’t a team that stuck to a script. They could pass endlessly, frustrating their opponents into making mistakes, but in a blink, they could shift, their attackers improvising, breaking formations in ways that no amount of preparation could fully anticipate. Twilight moved a blue magnet—Mare City’s striker—ever so slightly out of position, simulating a run that cut inside the centre-back. Her defence adjusted, but deep down, she knew that no board could capture the chaos they brought to the pitch.

Her expression remained stoic as her mind raced. Mare City was a team that thrived in unpredictability, and even though Twilight had mapped out countless scenarios—counterattacks, possession shifts, defensive traps—there was always an element that couldn’t be accounted for. That was where the discipline came in, the constant reinforcement of her Reds’ structure. No matter how unpredictable the opponent, Twilight’s team had to remain stable. She knew it was impossible to predict every move Mare City would make, but she also knew the power of preparation, of control.

She adjusted the red magnets, pulling her right-back into a more central position to cover Mare City’s inevitable switch in attack. But even as she set the formation in place, her thoughts returned to the randomness of the game, the sudden brilliance that a single player could bring—how, in a heartbeat, everything could change.

Twilight’s eyes narrowed as they landed on the light blue magnet placed at the left wing, a single symbol on the board that represented the most unpredictable variable of the entire game. Just looking at it sent a shiver of frustration through her, twisting tight in her chest. Reaching into her desk drawer, she pulled out a carton of cigarettes, a habit she rarely indulged but found herself drawn to on the eve of matches like this. She took one out, studied it with a slight frown, rolling it between her fingers. It was an irony that never escaped her: this human invention, born from a war against Discord once upon a time, did help with stress, but at a price—stealing breaths from her lungs with every drag. She knew the science, knew the toll. Yet tonight, she welcomed it.

Placing the cigarette between her lips, she conjured a small flame with a flick of her finger, lighting the tip. The orange glow pulsed softly in the darkened room as she took a slow inhale, filling her lungs with the familiar burn before exhaling in a smooth plume. She held it loosely between her fingers, her gaze sliding back to the light blue magnet. It wasn’t the position that bothered her, no—it was who that magnet represented. Rarity. Elegant, elusive, and a nightmare to defend.

Even as a player on Twilight’s own team once, Rarity had always been an enigma. She thrived on the individualism of her style, her moves unpredictable, her dribbling near flawless. She danced around defenders as if they were nothing, weaving in and out of their paths with a grace that defied logic. A single tap of the ball, a feint, and she would slip past not one but multiple players as though she were made of smoke. Containing her was like trying to catch air with your hands—futile and maddening. For years, Twilight had racked her brain to find a strategy that could neutralise her, but nothing seemed to work. Even now, as a rival, Rarity remained as unsolvable as ever.

The only solution Twilight could envision was a relentless, suffocating mark—assigning her fastest, strongest player to shadow Rarity’s every move. But even that felt like a half-measure. There were simply too many variables, too many ways Rarity could slip through even the tightest of defences. She knew all too well how her former teammate operated: how Rarity could spot openings in the blink of an eye, her mind a step ahead, her movements always a mystery.

With a sigh, Twilight leaned back in her chair, cigarette balanced between her fingers as she looked out into the night beyond her window. The glow from her desk cast shadows along the wall, accentuating her sharp, stoic expression, though a flicker of admiration softened her gaze. “You and Rainbow Dash.” she murmured to the empty room, a wry smile tugging at her lips, “have been the thorns in my side for far too long.”

She took another drag, eyes half-lidded as she let the smoke swirl into the night air, her mind once again running through plans and contingencies, searching for the elusive key to unraveling Rarity.

Twilight took a slow breath, steadying her focus. Control what you can, she reminded herself. Control your players, control the space, control the pace of the game. Let Mare City be unpredictable; she would be ready, she always has been.

“Having trouble?” The sudden voice broke Twilight’s focus, making her eyes snap toward the source. Her horn flared, and the top drawer beneath her desk slid open silently, her hand hovering over the concealed weapon within, ready for anything. But then, she spotted her visitor—Redsica, sprawled casually across a black cushioned couch near the window. She had one arm draped over the back, the other holding a wrap stuffed with lettuce and some sliced, tin-foiled wrap of grilled veggies, a relaxed leg crossed over her knee. Dressed in a sleek black coat branded with Spike’s logo, track pants, and a cap low over her eyes, Redsica looked as if she’d melted right into the night.

Twilight’s expression softened marginally, though her posture didn’t fully relax.

“I knocked, for the record.” Redsica said, her tone breezy. “When you didn’t answer, I figured I’d make myself comfortable. Didn’t want to shatter that famous focus of yours, so I waited.”

Twilight’s eyes narrowed, unimpressed. “How long, precisely?”

“Five minutes and twenty-seven seconds. I assumed you’d appreciate accuracy.” Redsica smirked, taking a bite of her wrap. “This is vegan, by the way—pretty filling. Want to try?”

“No, thank you. And kindly refrain from making a mess.” Twilight closed the drawer as Redsica approached the desk, her gaze unwavering. Redsica, however, had already glimpsed its contents.

“Wait a second—is that a gun?” Redsica leaned over the desk, eyes wide. “What are you doing with a firearm?”

Twilight sighed through her nose, opening the drawer again and pulling out the old, battle-worn Colt 1911, its blackened metal tinged with countless marks. She performed a safety check, making there was no ammo in the magazine or in the chamber before sliding the pistol across the desk, careful, calm. “An original model, long obsolete—discarded when newer weapons emerged.” she said as Redsica examined the piece in awe, her wrap forgotten.

“That’s something, alright.” Redsica’s eyes were bright, her tone hushed.

“Take it. I have little use for the antiquated.” Twilight murmured, closing the drawer.

Redsica’s jaw dropped. “You’re serious!? You must be having a laugh! Why do you even have a gun?”

Twilight’s tone remained even, cool. “It was my father’s. He believed I should possess something to protect myself, especially after my ascension to alicorn status. He insisted I be wary of those who might exploit my position, or worse… those who might remove me should I ever be considered for the throne.”

Redsica’s eyes widened as she absorbed the weight of the revelation. “Fuckin’ hell, that’s heavy that. Has anypony actually tried to…?”

“No.” Twilight replied smoothly. “But ambitious nobles, both here and abroad, have tried to secure political ties through marriage offers. They aim to edge closer to the royal line.” She waved a hand dismissively. “For self-defence, my magic is more than adequate.”

With a casual shrug, she took a measured drag from her cigarette, her gaze unfazed as it drifted to the night beyond.

Looking back, Twilight raised an eyebrow as Redsica tucked the pistol into the waistband of her track pants. “Well, I appreciate the gift. Not exactly what I thought I’d be walking out with tonight.” Redsica said.

Twilight’s expression remained steely, her tone curt. “And why are you here at this hour? You should be resting before the match tomorrow. What could possibly warrant showing up in my office in the middle of the night?”

Redsica’s usual nonchalance faded. “Honestly, I could’ve waited until after the game, but I thought you’d appreciate knowing this ahead of time. After tomorrow’s match, I won’t be available for training or the game against the Wanderers next week.”

Twilight’s gaze sharpened. “Would you care to explain why?”

“It’s… a personal matter.” Redsica said vaguely, her voice steady despite the weight of her words.

Twilight’s eyes narrowed, her tone clipped. “I’ll require more than that.”

Redsica met her gaze head-on. “It’s family. My parents are gone. My sister’s all I have left, and something’s come up involving her. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone—a few days, maybe a couple of weeks—but I need to handle this.”

Twilight scrutinised her, searching Redsica’s eyes for any sign of hesitation. She saw none; the young player was prepared to risk everything to help her sister. With a deep inhale, Twilight took a final drag from her cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray.

“88th minute tomorrow.” she said coolly, “you’ll go down with a ‘hamstring injury.’ I’ll substitute you. In the press conference, I’ll confirm a grade-one strain, buying you one to two weeks under the radar. The fans and media won’t question it.”

Redsica exhaled in relief, nodding. “Thank you. But why the need for a cover story? Why not say it’s a family matter?”

Twilight’s tone turned slightly severe. “In these critical weeks of the season, being absent for anything other than an injury will bring endless criticism from the media and fans alike. If you aren’t perceived as fully committed to this club, they’ll tear your reputation apart—up-and-comer or not. I’ve seen it happen.” She gestured toward the door. “Now go. Get some rest. We have a significant game tomorrow, and I need you at your best.”

Redsica gave her a half-smile as she moved to leave. “Same goes for you. The squad needs your brilliance as much as I need mine. Get some sleep.”

Redsica glanced over her shoulder at the whiteboard, noting the positioning. “One more thing—play me on the right wing. I’ll take care of Rarity.”

Twilight raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “And just how do you propose to handle the best player in the world?”

“Two things, boss.” Redsica replied with a sly grin. “First, I started as a defensive midfielder. Second, let’s just say I have a few ways of being a real pain in the flank.” She winked, taking another bite of her wrap. “See you tomorrow.”

Twilight watched her leave, then returned her gaze to the board. Redsica’s strength, speed, and—apparently—her defensive training offered intriguing potential. “Interesting.” She murmured, adjusting the lineup.

Finally, Twilight checked the clock—11:17, glowing faintly in the lamplight. A deep weariness crept over her, and she allowed herself a rare moment of acknowledgment. The suggestion to rest was tempting, and, letting out a sigh, she muttered, “Fine.” With a snap of her fingers, she extinguished the lamp, and in an instant, teleported directly to her bed.

Comments

[Starlight Nova]

Sex tag - sex reference in Interlude 2

What about beyond that?

[Penanka72]

12027035
Its a teen-rated story, there will only be sex-referenced scenes unless I decide it to be mature-rated one day.

[Norwegian boy]

You had to have Haalands's name in the story, I hate that guy.