M.F.E.O.

by Silent Whisper

Rating: teen
Tags: Violence, Alternate Universe, Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Thriller, Night Glider, Spitfire
Length: 2573

Hate and love are not opposites.

There's nothing more beautiful, nothing more destructive, than being the perfect match for somepony else.

And us?

I'm afraid we're made for each other.

Isn't that wonderful?

Hate and love are not opposites.

I've once again written something that defies summarization without completely spoiling itself. CW for Descriptions of wings being broken and toxic yuri once again, rated T just to be on the safe side. Aaaand I know it's kind of an older acronym, but MFEO stands for "made for each other," in case you were curious. ♥

Coverart by me, full size version here!

This fic was written during the Genre Swap 4 panic for the Quills and Sofas Speedwriting Group, winning second place! If you're looking for a fun place for inspiration among a delightfully diverse group of fellow writers, you can join us on Discord here!

Thank you to darkcyan, The Red Parade, pneu, and starcoder for prereading, and to darkcyan especially for in-depth editing.

Published 2024-08-05 21:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2024-08-05 21:00:01 UTC

What's love without destruction? What's hate without devotion?

We’re made for each other.

You know, ever since I was old enough to understand, I’ve been dreaming of this moment. The way it would feel when our eyes met, the instant connection we’d share. I’d look at you, and I’d just know, with no doubts in my mind, that you were the one. The only match for me.

It wasn’t anything like what I’d envisioned.

Now, now, no need to give me such a look! It wasn’t your fault, not at all! I’m not complaining, and different isn’t necessarily bad. There was a sort of fear that took hold of me, gripping me from the inside, clawing at my pounding heart like a drowning mare. The tales never mentioned the terror woven into the adrenaline.

And, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t sure you felt the same way. Not at first.

Spitfire snaps to attention at a faint rustling sound in the palace corridors. The beam of her flashlight catches a quick movement in the shadows that shouldn’t be. She squints at it, her vision compensating as best as it can for the contrast between light and shadow. It catches a muted flicker of black, dull cloth, wrapped around a tail whose owner is fleeing for their life. Her head jerks, following the path of the other, trying to cut it off in her beam’s circle.

For a moment, time stops, and a pair of teal eyes flash in the gloom, meeting Spitfire’s for a split second before the other mare’s gone, out the palace window, silent as an owl in flight.

“Stop!” Spitfire cries, her mind catching up to the situation as she races in pursuit, but a part of her knows she’s too late. The only indication the intruder was more than a trick of the light rests on the sill, a streak of rose red against the marble. A calling card of sorts.

She reports it the next morning, as soon as her watch ends, cursing herself for not acting quicker. Even as she’s chastised for her error, she hopes the stranger will return. A memory of teal eyes isn’t enough; she’ll have to catch the mare for herself. For her own sake, as much as for the Princess’s.

Such things could not be allowed to escape her grasp.

Ah, but our second meeting! That sealed the deal, didn’t it? I’m certain you felt it by then. We’re perfect for one another, you and I! In every exchange of words, a battle of wits. You’re my match in more ways than one. Two sides, same bit, as the merchants say!

It’s not so bad. There are ponies who wait their entire lives without- ahem, sorry, had to cough. They wait their whole lives for a connection like ours. We found each other in our prime!

Or, well, mostly my prime, now.

How fortunate I am, that you still keep me company. I hate feeling like I’m less than my best around you, but the way your gaze challenges me, I know in your eyes I’m still the pony you once pursued, no matter what I look like, now, and no matter what I’ve- well. You know.

Your voice still haunts me, did you know? Every time I go to sleep, little as I get these nights, I hear it echo in my mind. You haunt me. I’m honored by it, of course. I’d have it no other way.

I wonder if I haunt you too.

Spitfire pursues the figure as it bolts from the tower’s guest rooms, reacting on little more than instinct. “Get back here!” She shouts, her voice echoing through the halls. If her heart wasn’t pounding in her ears, she’d be able to hear the distant sound of other patrols closing in, but their haste is futile. There’s no way they’ll get here in time. “Halt in the name of the Princess!”

“Oh, is that all? It’s hardly polite, speaking on another mare’s behalf, you know!” The mare laughs between pants, taking the stairs two at a time. The next landing’s window isn’t far, and the intruder races towards it confidently. She’d clearly known the palace layout before her terrible mission. Her wingtips brush the corridor wall as she twists up the spiral steps, dusky blue feathers that would be beautiful if they weren’t attached to her.

It’s too close. Spitfire doesn’t have enough time to catch up. This room is on the very edge of her patrol route and it was a miracle she’d spotted the movement at all. “Who are you?” She cries out, her hoof brushing the tip of a black-wrapped tail before it flicks out of reach. “I demand you identify yourself, by order of the-”

In the next second, a hoof plants itself squarely against Spitfire’s chest. Her inertia drives her forward, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Spitfire doubles over, wheezing, fighting for enough air to get back in the fight.

Only, it isn’t much of a fight. The intruder just laughs. Teal eyes, ones she’s dreamt about more times than she can count, gaze back half-lidded as the hoof on her chest almost caresses her armor.

Spitfire finds herself struggling to breathe for more reasons than one.

“Terribly sorry for being so rude, Miss,” The mare whispers as she leans forward, her lips brushing against the curve of Spitfire’s ear. “You can call me Night Glider.”

And then she’s gone, spilling herself out the window, a phantom and a thief of something Spitfire can’t, won’t, define. Spitfire looks down and regards the red hoofprint against her chestplate, her cheeks flushed. The Princess won’t be pleased, of course, but as far as anypony knew, she’d lost sight of the mare as she pursued up the tower’s stairs.

“Night Glider, huh? Unfortunate name for a traitor to the crown.” She mutters under her breath, wiping the crimson stain from her armor with a swipe of her hoof. A scan of the horizon betrays no silhouettes. The mare’s long gone. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.” Spitfire whispers into the cool night air before she begins her descent.

Lost in thought again, are we? Don’t be shy about it! I think about those nights often as well. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed a moment longer. I wish you could’ve seen your expression! You’re made for me, and I for you. You think differently than me, yes, but that makes you all the more intriguing, you know?

Every conversation, every touch, even your rare absences feel like we’re playing chess while blindfolded. Who can say who’s moving which piece? I have a feeling we’ve got a lot more to learn from each other.

I’ve never met anypony who can keep up with me like you can. Not before, and not since. You really are as incredible as they say. I don’t know whose version of the events spread first, yours or mine, but at the end of the night, I suppose it doesn’t matter.

We were all anypony could talk about for the longest time.

Spitfire grits her teeth as she weaves through the rafters, her quarry almost cornered but annoyingly nimble. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” She ducks her head at the last possible second to avoid impact with a hefty slat, wishing she’d been born with a smaller wingspan. If she’d been pursuing the mare out in the open skies of Canterlot, the whole thing would’ve been long over by now, but no, she had to keep getting assigned patrol inside the palace walls.

“Really, Miss, we must stop meeting like this!” Night Glider calls back over her shoulder. The star-white tip of her tail’s stained red where the tail wrap’s come unwound. With every brush, it paints surfaces scarlet. She balances, birdlike, on a thin beam, just out of Spitfire’s reach. “Ponies will talk!”

“You bet they will,” Spitfire growls, landing on a thicker plank that can take her weight. Bolts weren’t bred to be light, and muscle is surprisingly dense, even on a larger pegasus’s frame. Sure, she has to work harder to stay in the air, but once she gets a grip on her prey, the fight’s pretty much over. “My Princess will know of your treachery, and-”

“Yes, yes,” She chirps, bracing her slender hooves against the timber supporting her and flattening her spine against the roof. Something in the ancient tile cracks. Night Glider’s hooves drip crimson, but she pays them no mind. “You’re quite the conversationalist. Do you ever talk about anything that isn’t business?”

“Can’t help it. You’ve made yourself my business right now.” Spitfire’s cheeks flush, and she wishes she could bite back her words and change them for something, anything less cliched. The gleam in the other’s eye feels like freefall, addicting and dangerous. “You’re a terrorist, a monster, and when I catch you-”

Night Glider laughs as the weak spot of the roof crumbles around her, shards of ceramic falling a long way to the floor. “You won’t. You’ll always be a half-step behind me, and that’s what I love about you.” She practically sings as she launches herself into the sky, just out of reach. For now, not forever. “Until next time, my shadow.”

Heh, neither of us heard the end of that encounter for weeks, did we? I was in trouble for causing such a scene, wasting energy that almost got me captured, and you-

Well, you’ve told me how your Princess responded to your failure. You’ve ensured I’ve paid you back for that little date, have you not? It’s no matter. Really, I don’t mind.

You’ve given me so much. Bracelets are a form of jewelry, are they not? And these are bracelets of a sort, though they’re a little plainer than I’d expected your taste to be. It’s your attention, though, your constant attention, that’s the real prize!

Any mare would be jealous of me for receiving that honor. I should count myself lucky, that I’m not just some mare you happened to bump into on the streets. Our meeting was no mere chance, it was practically fate! I don’t begrudge you the origin of our relationship. It’s more personal this way, wouldn’t you say?

It’s been personal since long before I realized it. I’m sorry for not noticing sooner.

If I have any complaints, it would be the makeover you’ve given me, but I shouldn’t be too picky. I’ve always thought you were perfect for me, and in many ways I’m perfect for you now more than ever, yes?

It isn’t until Spitfire shatters one of her delicate navy wings against the coarse cobblestone of the castle’s courtyard that Night Glider finally shuts up.

“I warned you,” Spitfire spits, stomping her hoof down on the brittle bones of the intruder’s other wing, punctuating her sentence with a satisfying crack. “The Princess doesn’t tolerate assassins, especially those targeting her nobles. Stupid, stupid Night Glider. Did you think you could evade capture forever?”

Night Glider, to her credit, doesn’t scream, though her mouth opens with a soundless howl. The mutinous fury hasn’t quite faded from her seafoam eyes. “I’m not afraid of death.” She chokes out after a moment, her voice wavering slightly. “Not from you, and not from her. I’ve done enough for the true ruler of Equestria, the rightful Princess, and I’m not scared of you.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” the Bolt says, studying the captive. Her captive, now. Spitfire’s hoof brushes against Night Glider’s downy chest fur, almost teasingly, before leaning forward with her body’s considerable weight, watching the pinned mare struggle to draw in another breath, feeling her ribs strain. A purple hoofprint as repayment for the scarlet one the traitor had given her seemed all too appropriate. “I don’t plan on letting you die for a long time.”

There’s the struggle she’d been waiting for all this time, the beginning bloom of panic in Night Glider’s eyes as she draws in a strangled wheeze of a breath. “You? I don’t-” Her words are drowned out by a weak cough. She thrashes as Spitfire lets up the pressure for just long enough to keep her from blacking out. Her teal eyes widen in beautiful panic, her pale mane falling in wild tangles like a moon-drenched halo around her head.

It’s a sight Spitfire can’t tear her gaze away from as she reaches for a pair of manacles, deftly cuffing her wrists together.

There. Perfect.

Spitfire smiles down at her, her first smile for as long as she could remember. It wasn’t a pretty smile, judging by the way Night Glider shuddered, but she didn’t care. It felt good. “As far as anypony will know, you’re dead, and I’ll be forced to retire, due to both the trauma of the past year and the shame of not having caught you sooner.”

Spitfire tenderly cradles the mare’s cheek, watching as Night Glider weakly gasps for air. “Nopony will look for you. Nopony who matters will mourn for you. You’ll never escape, not after everything you’ve taken from me. The Princess’s respect, the peace of the latest-night watch, my reputation, my life and heart? You owe me for all of it. But don’t worry, monster,” Spitfire all but purrs as her captive’s expression flickers between resignation and rebellion. “We’ll have more than enough time together for me to collect what I’m due.”

You’re smiling again, you know. Lost in reminiscence? I bet I can guess what you’re thinking about. Did it feel nice, back then, almost winning?

Yes, almost! You shattered my wings, you’ve cuffed my hooves and chained me to your basement wall, and you still haven’t won, because you’re still as obsessed with me as the night we met.

Don’t glare at me. It goes both ways, you know. We’re equals, we’re the same, and that means neither of us can fully claim victory over the other. I’ve consumed you as much as you’ve destroyed me. It’s a romantic thought, isn’t it? We’re made for each other, like the grenade and the pin. The iron and the rust. The moon and the su-

Ha. I see I’ve gotten you properly angry. Going to try to break me once again? Go on, strike me for my heresy! You can take whatever you’d like from me, my shadow. It’s sweet that you’ve never done anything to silence me permanently. It means everything I say that ticks you off is your own fault. The things you do to yourself, it must be some form of masochism.

There’s that beautiful look in your eyes, that golden fury. You know I’m right. You’re as fiery as the lost heavens when you’re enraged like this. We were born to the wrong sides, weren’t we? It’s almost funny. Spitfire, Her Majesty’s Shadowbolt, and Night Glider, the rebellion’s assassin. Day cloaked in night, and night steeped in day. Not that it matters, outside of a poetic sense. In here, with you, it’s just us, no skies or Princesses exist.

You… what? No, no, what is it you were going to say? You hate me? You love me? Don’t lie to yourself. With us, there’s no difference between the two.

Oh, don’t cry, my shadow, my Spitfire.

I hate you too, with all I am, with all I have left.