>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