(You) and your autistic bat, Aurora


                                            >You are Anonymous.

                                            >And you are roomies with a bat pony.

                                            "AURORA! What the fuck are you doing in there?"

                                            >An absolutely, one-hundred percent, autistic bat pony.

                                            >Par for the course, really.

                                            >"Mnf..."

                                            >You bang your fist on the doorframe again.

                                            "I'm going to the store! Where the hell did you put your list?"

                                            >"Hn... H-hold on!"

                                            >There's more shuffling. You feel the floor shake slightly, and hear hooves shifting on tile.

                                            >Then, she moans. Again.

                                            >God. Fucking. Dammit.

                                            "Just—just tell me where you put it, Aurora."

                                            >"I... mnf... I... wait!"

                                            >Her hooves clop against the bathroom floor again.

                                            >There's a light gasp, followed followed by several wet 'plaps'. Like piss in the basin.

                                            >You just sit there, face in hand, eyes shielded from the door.

                                            >"O-okay, I'm... coming."

                                            "Wash your—"

                                            >Before you know it, the door is open, and Aurora Blossom is out.

                                            >With your hand moved to the lower half of your face, you deadpan at the tan-coated bat mare.

                                            >She sports her fangs at you brightly, and brushes her white mane to the side.

                                            >With a sticky hoof.

                                            "—hooves."

                                            >"What's up?"

                                            "...Your shopping list. Where is it?"

                                            >"...List... list..."

                                            >She blinks. Her hoof /squishes/ as it rests back on the floor.

                                            >"List?"

                                            >Why do you even bother?

                                            "Hot pockets?"

                                            >Her eyes brighten, and her smile jumps back onto her muzzle. She nods eagerly.

                                            >You snap your fingers, and start reaching.

                                            "Hot pockets. Fine."

                                            >As gently as you can—

                                            >Okay, no. You shove her back into the bathroom. She slips slightly, squeaking in bat and on tile.

                                            >You pull the handle shut and step away.

                                            "That room better be spotless when I get back, Aurora."

                                            >You pause in the midst of your little shared home, eyeing up the rest of the unkempt bat-mess.

                                            >"Oh, okay! Um, love you! I—bye!"

                                            "Y-you too."


                                            >It's not more than two hours that you're out.

                                            >But by the time you're back, you can already tell the autist-at-large has been around.

                                            >Stepping over the usual slump of thoroughly-rummaged 'stuff' (a mix of Aurora and Anon specialties), you round the corner.

                                            >Yup, there's your usual nightmare.

                                            >The one occupied side of the room sparks with dots of red and yellow.

                                            >All the while, Aurora is excitedly prancing.

                                            >Her eyes glitter in the evening light.

                                            >"Anon, look, it's working really good tonight!"

                                            >You glance at the microwave.

                                            >Setting your bags down, you walk over, shut the screeching contraption off, and hoist the door open.

                                            >The smell of janny tears pours out with smoke.

                                            >You reach over to a familiar kitchen drawer, smoothly drawing and sliding on an oven mitt.

                                            >With the rest of your prep already charged, you safely disembowel the fiery contents within the microwave.

                                            >Together, you and Aurora stare at the smoldering remains of the hot pocket.

                                            >She sniffs, and her maw opens. A flood of mare drool drips down.

                                            >"It smells really good!"

                                            "Yeah."

                                            >The cheese is fucking black.

                                            >With your 'silverware' you salvage what you can of the hot pocket.

                                            >Before long, she's seated at the island, beaming down at the plate before her.

                                            "Blow on it, Aurora."

                                            >She blows you a raspberry, but listens.

                                            >You slump down beside her, waving a hand across her food while she starts to eat.

                                            >God, she's a fucking handful.

                                            >But at least she's your little autist.


                                            >You can smell something burning.

                                            >For your home, that's not something atypical, nor is it an outward indication that the house is burning down.

                                            >But this... this is bad.

                                            >You can smell burnt hot pocket.

                                            >A hot pocket is burning.

                                            >And you've been home this whole night.

                                            >And Aurora is unattended.

                                            >Yes, as an experienced tard wrangler, you're more than aware of what Aurora's burning hot pockets smell like from across the house, and through several doors.

                                            >It's hard not to forget the smell of boiled, mayo and dietz nuts filled, yellow pepper with avocado and raw pigeon bacon hotpockets.

                                            >You make your way over to the door to her room, steel yourself, and knock on the door.

                                            >You don't have it in your heart to break that habit.

                                            >Probably should.

                                            "Aurora? I know you're in there."

                                            >There's a pause, and some metal scratching sound stops. You hear more fumbling, and—

                                            >You're fucking going in, you know exactly what she did.

                                            >You barely keep yourself from kicking the door down.

                                            >Her room is a mess, like always.

                                            >Big heaps of random Aurora-hoarded litter (you don't let her keep actual garbage) are pushed to the corners away from a central desktop.

                                            >You know for a fact that it's the most expensive room in the house.

                                            >You stare at Aurora as she stares at you.

                                            >Your bat roomie skrees at you.

                                            >You react appropriately.

                                            "IS THAT A FUCKING STOVE?"

                                            >You're reee'ing before you know it.

                                            "AURORA! I TOLD YOU NO MORE COOKING STREAMS!"

                                            >She squeaks, and waves her hooves in front of her /absurdly/ expensive webcam.

                                            >"A-Anon, I'm live!"

                                            >She's double-boiling a hot pocket as you speak.

                                            >The pot is far too small for the pile of foodstuffs by her side, but that's not stopping the inadvertently-opened side of the hot pocket from pouring its contents in.

                                            >The bits of hot crust on the edge of the pot are the most significant point of burning, but not everything else is unscathed, either.

                                            >You stomp over, ignoring her second monitor's rapid-firing chat.

                                            >You turn the camp stove off.

                                            >"Aw come on, it was almost done!"

                                            "And now, your stream is done."

                                            >"What?"

                                            >She shakes her head, rattling her custom-built gaymare headset from her ears.

                                            >"Nonono, you can't! Anon! ANON!"

                                            >Reaching across her, you—

                                            >SHITOHFUCK

                                            >You howl and try to pull back, but Aurora's latched onto your arm with both fangs.

                                            >She wraps her forelegs around your arm like a vice.

                                            >Taking your other arm, you stand with Aurora, her hindlegs dangling.

                                            >All the while, the cameras are rolling for the most popular stream of the only mare on Earth.

                                            >The fact that thousands of people are watching you struggle with their favorite internet retard does not pass you by.

                                            >Naturally, you do the only thing you can think of.

                                            "NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER NIGGER FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT FAGGOT—"

                                            >Aurora is moaning and flailing and screaming all at once into your arm.

                                            >You see the chat freeze up, and her streaming software go still.

                                            >You fall backwards, Aurora clamming up on top of you.

                                            >She immediately unlatches.

                                            >Tears are in her eyes.

                                            >"Anon, did you just get me banned?!"

                                            >Hissing, you pull back, swatting her lightly on the rump. She squeaks again, and you move to inspect your not-that-bloody arm.

                                            "Hot Pockets™ will still love you, Aurora."

                                            >She's gotten away with worse before. And she always gets unbanned.

                                            >"R-really?"

                                            "Yes, you fucking retarded..."

                                            >You sigh.

                                            "Silly mare."

                                            >With her tears drying up, you snuggle her close, and sigh a little more pleasantly.

                                            >Dimly, you become aware of the fact that you're laying on her mare musk smelling, hot pocket-crumb riddled, cum-soaked carpet.

                                            "Aurora."

                                            >She pipes up like nothing just happened.

                                            >"Yeah?"

                                            "Bath time."

                                            >eeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE