Hoofball


                                            >You walk in the front door of your home after a long week at work.

                                            >It wasn’t the first one you’ve had and it’s not going to be your last.

                                            >Your quarters were made for someone half your size. Your co-workers always seemed to get the attention despite doing half the work you did. And your boss was more concerned with his own career than he was with the well-being of his subordinates.

                                            >You may not have the prestige, money, or business smarts to set you apart, but you had one thing that no amount of good fortune could ever account for.

                                            “Daddy!”

                                            >You spin around and take a knee just in time for your multicolored blur of a daughter to rocket into your chest.

                                            >“Hey Skittles!”

                                            >Your hardened features break into an uncontrollable grin as the tiny filly hugs you with all her might.

                                            >Her tiny pair of cyan wings unfurl to hug you twice as much.

                                            >She pulls off you with a beaming grin.

                                            “Didja see what mommy got me!”

                                            >“Oooh she got you something did she? Go get it and show me!”

                                            >She giggles and gallop-flaps around the corner with unparalleled enthusiasm.

                                            >She may be a spitting image of her mother, but she wasn’t the natural flier Dash was.

                                            >Speaking of which…

                                            “Heya Anon.”

                                            >You meet the smiling eyes of your wife and loyal companion.

                                            >A quiet gaze is shared between you as you trade fuzzy emotions—the sum of years of practice.

                                            >At this point words were almost superfluous.

                                            >You close the distance simultaneously and wrap each other up in a mess of limbs.

                                            >She smiles and blows some hot air out of her nose in a reserved giggle.

                                            >Your lips meet and in that instant the stresses of your life melt away under a beam of radiant love.

                                            >When you first made your vows you promised yourself you’d never take these moments for granted…and you never have.

                                            >Whether it was the magic in this strange land, or the ticklish fur around her lips; the feeling of kissing her still made your heart skip just like the first time.

                                            >When she pulls away and meets your loving eyes you know the same is true for her too.

                                            >She kisses you again…just as tenderly as before but with her tongue acting as an extra player on the field.

                                            >To most stallions at this point in their lives, that would be an indicator that their partner’s in heat, but you’re proud to say that’s not the case with you.

                                            >This was commonplace with Dash.

                                            >Thus her heats always sort of snuck up on you…or tackled you in last month’s case.

                                            “Eeeew! That’s so gross!”

                                            >You both look at your daughter standing next to you with her little muzzle scrunched up.

                                            >Dash finishes her kiss unfazed before pulling off with a loud pop.

                                            “What’s up kiddo? Are you showing dad your skates?”

                                            >You snort and grin at Dash’s handling of the situation before turning to Skittles.

                                            >You were always afraid having a kid would make her divide her love between you, but you’d underestimated how awesome your partner was.

                                            >If anything her affections had steadily increased over the time you’ve known her.

                                            >The miniature pegasus snaps out of her trance pretty quick—she was no stranger to your affections.

                                            “Yeah daddy check ‘em out! Aren’t they totally rad!”

                                            >You chuckle as she straps them to her hooves.

                                            >Picking one up, you can see that they’ve each got four tiny wheels on the bottoms.

                                            >“They are pretty cool! Have you shown your friends yet?”

                                            “Yeah they all liked them except for Zipper, but mommy said I should just buck his face in if he bullies me again.”

                                            >You share a brief smirk with Dash before holding her a bit tighter to your chest.

                                            >Skittles finishes tying her skates and starts skating shaky circles around the room.

                                            >“Sounds like mommy knows what’s best. Just make sure it’s your last resort like we…talked…about…ok she’s not listening.”

                                            “A-hahahahaha! Whaddaya expect she’s your daughter!”

                                            >You nuzzle Dash’s smiling muzzle.

                                            >“Don’t try and pin that on me ma’am she got that from you.”

                                            “Nice try, but we both know who the real—“

                                            —*crash

                                            >Your heads snap around and yell out in unison.

                                            >“Skittles!”

                                            “Skittles!


                                            >An hour later you were done with dinner and were fixing to relax on the couch with some popcorn.

                                            >Friday night was family movie night, and tonight was extra special.

                                            >You were going to watch The Sandplot.

                                            >You were pretty eager to see how the Equestrian counterpart stacked up to your favorite childhood baseball story.

                                            >After a few minutes of finagling with some wires you finally get a picture on the screen and move back to take up a spot on the couch.

                                            >Dash leans on your shoulder and Skittles lays between the both of you.

                                            >You ruffle her multicolored hair—careful to avoid the knot on her forehead from her earlier run-in with the wall.

                                            >She was exactly what you’d expect for someone who carried Dash’s genes.

                                            >Thrill-seeking, hot-headed, and independent.

                                            >She’d yet to express any of your traits apart from your knack for skepticism.

                                            >Fortunately she could handle herself pretty well and had one of the fiercest guardians you could think of. Dash’s transition to the Wonderbolt reserves a few years ago made sure she was around as much as she needed to be.

                                            >She planned on going back to active duty once Skittles started elementary school.

                                            “Is this gonna be a sports movie?”

                                            >“Yep Skits, it’s about baseball.” One of the few sports that retained its name across the cultural gap.

                                            >The story starts with a young colt who’s new to the neighborhood. He quickly befriends a bunch of other colts who proceed to show him what a good summer break is all about.

                                            >As the movie drones on, Dash migrates from your shoulder to laying across your lap—her one fore hoof around your girl.

                                            >Your hand had been swimming in her sea of fur, savoring the simple touch with your mate.

                                            >Suddenly Skittles pipes up.

                                            “I wanna do sports.”

                                            >Dash’s ears immediately perk. This was one of the moments in parenting she’d rehearsed extensively for.

                                            >You know because she debated it with you for hours on end during her pregnancy.

                                            “What kinda sports squirt?” She asks, picking her head up off your lap. You knew Dash had an idea of her own, but she wanted to see where her daughter’s interests naturally lay.

                                            “Umm…” You can feel Dash’s muscles tense as she anticipates her response, “…maybe…uh…I don’t know.”

                                            “How about hoofball?”

                                            >You just smile in your lounged position.

                                            >This was Rainbow’s time to shine and she was eating it up.

                                            “Well…maybe…do you get trophies for winning?”

                                            “You bet you do! I think you’d be pretty good at it too, that’s what mommy played when she was your age you know.”

                                            “Really?” Skittles asks, looking back.

                                            >Rainbow nods with a smile.

                                            “Were you really good or just ok?”

                                            >Both of you chuckle at your daughter’s bluntness.

                                            “You’re mommy was on the best team in her district Skits.” Dash responds as you stroke her neck. Your daughters cerise eyes light up in admiration, “So whaddaya say squirt? I know the local coach and we can get you signed up tomorrow if you want.”

                                            >Her face suddenly contorts as if deep in thought.

                                            “Can Flitter do it too?” She asks, referencing her neighborhood friend.

                                            “Well we can certainly talk to her parents about it. I think it’d be good for you do join a team with your friend.” Dash responds.

                                            >Her cyan face scrunches up once more.

                                            “Whadda you think daddy?”

                                            >Suddenly the lively pair of magenta eyes turned to you screaming, ‘don’t you dare ruin this you oaf.’

                                            >You definitely didn’t want to get on her bad side…especially considering Skittles was spending all day at her grandparents’ tomorrow.

                                            >She’d never withheld sex from you before, but you weren’t about to test her limits.

                                            >“Yeah Skittles, I think hoofball sounds fun. Running around and uhh…scoring touchdowns and stuff…”

                                            >Dash’s brow suddenly furrows.

                                            “Wait you mean goals right—“

                                            “—Yeah I wanna do hoofball! Mommy sign me up for hoofball pleeaase!”

                                            “Uhh…heheh, squirt I’m sure you’ll do great! But uhh…you know what hoofball is right?”

                                            “Sure mommy, its the one with the touchdowns and the field goals and the hallmary’s.”

                                            >“Hell Mary’s.” You correct.

                                            >Dash looks mortified.

                                            “Nonono sweetie, hoofball is where you dribble the ball down the field and score a goal.”

                                            >There’s a brief but very tense moment of silence in which you become vaguely aware your daughter’s response is distantly linked to your own fate.

                                            “Hehe, silly mommy that’s soccer!”

                                            >You’re so enamored by the fact that the movie retained the ‘you’re killing me Smalls!’ quote, word-for-word, that you don’t immediately notice Rainbow glaring at you.

                                            >You continue stroking the fur of her back, but eventually the silence tips you off.

                                            >Your eyes find her stern glare.

                                            >“What?”

                                            “How many times have we discussed the differences between the terms hoofball and griffin hoofball.”

                                            >“Umm…probably ten or twenty—“

                                            “—And how many of those times have I emphasized that hoofball is the original name for what you like to call ‘soccer’ and that griffin hoofball is a completely different sport that isn’t worthy of the term hoofball?”

                                            >“Uhh…four or fi—“

                                            “—And if I recall correctly I suggested that under no circumstances were you to taint ponies’ minds with the idea that it should be any other way.”

                                            >Dash’s words were hushed but packed full of frustration. She avoided placing explicit blame on you in front of your daughter, but she still found a way to speak her mind.

                                            >“Now I don’t think that’s fair. First of all language is the fasted evolving aspect of any society and it changes to reflect convenience and cultural trends.”

                                            “But that doesn’t mean it can’t be wrong.”

                                            >Skittles rolled on her back to watch the TV upside down while her parents continued their heated debate.

                                            >“No, but is it really wrong if the majority of people consider it to be right?”

                                            “The majority’s not always right!”

                                            >“That would mean every evolution in language is wrong.” You adopt the most pompous old-english accent you can muster,  “Would you have me feather the tapestries for supper and company darling? Or do you want me to dust the curtains so our crib looks tight when your parents come over for dinner?” You drop your accent for the last half forcing your daughter to giggle a bit.

                                            >Dash can’t hide her own grin, but she pressed on.

                                            “That’s not heh…that’s not what I mean!”

                                            >“Then be a dear and enlighten me madam.” You respond, pinching her cheek.

                                            >That earns you a push from your mare, “Stop it!”

                                            >Skittles laughs some more.

                                            “No, I’m just saying if you call griffin hoofball, hoofball, then what are you going to call real hoofball?”

                                            >“…Soccer.”

                                            “No! You can’t just…ugh!”

                                            >Your daughter finally speaks.

                                            “I wanna do hailmarys.”

                                            >Dash was fighting an uphill battle, “Skits, it’s not what you think. It’s rough and dangerous and…there’s not really a good fillies team nearby…”

                                            “But I wanna tackle ponies!”

                                            >You pat her belly and she kicks at you hand gleefully, “That’s the spirit.”

                                            >Dash shoots you a look to tell you to ‘freaking stop.’

                                            “Skits, have you seen griffin hoofball? Players get injured all the time and you don’t even run that much unless they pass to you, in which case you’re probably going to get injured.”

                                            “But mommy, you said I was the toughest filly you know?”

                                            >Dash pauses while you continue stroking her mane, you really had no stake in this argument other than your desire to give her a hard time.

                                            “Yeah, I did. And it’s the truth…” She nuzzles into her daughter’s belly, “…I just think you’d have more fun playing hoofball.”

                                            “You mean soccer?” She responds innocently.

                                            >Dash takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, “Yeah. That.”

                                            >Time to intervene.

                                            >“How about this Skits, dad’ll take you to hoofball practice and mom’ll take you to soccer practice for a little bit and you can decide whichever one you like better. If you want to do both then we can keep taking you to both, that’s alright too.”

                                            >Dash gives you an interested look.

                                            “Really?”

                                            “Sure thing, but only if you promise to call it hoofball and not soccer.” Dash jibes.

                                            >She looks up at her mother’s loving smile, “I can do two hoofballs?”

                                            >You give her belly another pat, “My daughter can do however many hoofballs she wants…as long as she gets her homework done.”

                                            “What’s homework?”

                                            >“Oh it’s nothing…it’s only the best thing your life!”

                                            >Dash snorts.

                                            “Really! Can I do some now!”

                                            >“Heheheh, hold up Skits, you’ll have plenty to do later I promise you.”

                                            >She hums contently and leans back to stare at the TV with a smile on her face.

                                            >Dash gives you a look of admiration.

                                            >You’d rarely gotten those before you became a father, but since then they’d been some of the best rewards you’ve ever received…right up beside Skittle’s refrigerator paintings.

                                            >You finish the movie snuggled up with the two most important mares in your life, and by the time the credits start rolling your daughter’s eyes are hanging heavy.

                                            >Silently you agree to shut things down in the living room while your wife get’s the kid tucked in.

                                            >You give her a parting kiss on the cheek before she gets up and follows Dash to the bathroom.

                                            >Parenting was one of those things that was scary in the moment, but in hindsight every day was the best experience of your life.

                                            >It was adventurous—like solving a puzzle, but instead of a semi-useful sidekick, you had the one mare that understood you and loved you more than anything in the world.

                                            >Every moment with your daughter was a reminder of the love that’s shared between you, and as such, any disagreements that arose never drove you apart.

                                            >If you really think about it you’re an incredibly lucky guy. Most stallions couldn’t even imagine having such a wonderful home life.

                                            >As you walk down the hall you pass the bathroom where Dash was brushing her teeth with Skittles, then past your daughter’s bedroom in all it’s colorful mess.

                                            >You complete your routine and crash on the mattress just in time to hear Dash finishing up a bedtime story.

                                            >You lay there with your eyes closed, listening to the affectionate scene across the hall unfold as it had every night for the past few years.

                                            >Finally, the sound of hooves plodding on carpet snakes into your room.

                                            >The lamp clicks off before Dash burrows into the covers.

                                            >Her torso lays across your supine one and you feel her breath on your face.

                                            >“She tucked in?”

                                            “Yep…*smooch”

                                            >Your eyes open as your lips part.

                                            >Fingers start stroking through her mane.

                                            >“Dad’s taking her fishing tomorrow from what I hear.”

                                            >Dash lets out a relaxed breath and lays her head on your chest.

                                            “Yeah…mom’s also taking her over to build-a-critter, she’s been wanting a Spitfire plush I guess.”

                                            >“Heheh…not a Rainbow Dash one?”

                                            >Dash sighs, “I don’t blame her, she’s got the real one at home.”

                                            >Your mane stroking turns into a scalp massage and the mare starts grunting from the stimulating feeling.

                                            >“Maybe I’ll go with them and get a Rainbow Dash one…you know, for business trips and stuff.”

                                            “Hmm-heheh, I’m starting to molt, you could just glue together all my loose hair and feathers and—“

                                            >“—Hahahahaha!”

                                            “Shhhh! She’s sleeping!”

                                            >“Sorry, that’s just…that’s funny.”

                                            >She wasn’t lying, the white sheets had a distinctly blue tint from her hair and you’d recently gotten pricked with some loose down feathers.

                                            >Silence pervades for the next few minutes, the only indication Dash was still awake were the quiet grunts and glint from her moist eyes studying you in the dark.

                                            >“Hey, I’m sorry I made you mad about the hoofball thing, I didn’t realize she picked up that much from us watching the games together.”

                                            “No, dude you’re fine! I just, I guess I wanted her to play hoofball, it didn’t really occur to me that she’d ever want to play something else.”

                                            >You sense the sobriety in her voice.

                                            >”Hey, it’s an easy mistake to make, my dad did the same thing with me when I was a kid and I still enjoyed it.” Your fingers stroke her affectionately, “You’re the best mom anyone could ask for, believe me.”

                                            “Th-thanks Anon.” She seems to take it to heart.

                                            >But she stays quiet for a moment.

                                            “Geez, if you still think I can get mad at you I’m obviously not rutting you enough.”

                                            >”Heh, is that a hint?”

                                            “Not really hinting at much there big guy.”

                                            >Her hips maneuver over yours and her hind hooves work your boxers down.

                                            >You pull her head into a deep kiss before parting with a smack.

                                            >”I think I love you enough that I won’t call it soccer anymore.”