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Valentine's Day Schmoop-O-Grams
Because every Hallmark Holiday is better with some genuine emotion behind it, I would like to express my deepest fondness for you all on this most-loathed of holidays. My deepest fondness on this occasion will take the form of sugary, sappy, schmoopy ficlets, tailored to your needs <3
Drop a comment here with a pairing and a prompt, and on Tuesday I will post a completed fictlet for you, dripping with cuteness, love, lust,bodily fluids, whatever you’d like!
Happy Valentine’s <3
Drop a comment here with a pairing and a prompt, and on Tuesday I will post a completed fictlet for you, dripping with cuteness, love, lust,
Happy Valentine’s <3
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And of course I'll gladly take this opportunity to see some schmoopy, sugar-drenched writing from you. Of course, there was only one pairing I could really pick for this, and I daresay it hardly needs introduction...
...but all the same, I'd love to see something oozing and syrupy for the love between Kero and pancakes, The Love That Dare Not Scrape The Plate, and I hope you don't feel the need to skimp on the sap! (I bought my bucket, goggles and raincoat; I'm well prepared for any splashback!)
On a more serious note, Happy Valentine's love, and I hope that even though it is undoubtedly a hallmark holiday designed to use and abuse our cash flow, it's still a great day for you~ <333
The Love That Dare Not Scrape the Plate
This, Yue noted with some disgust, had all apparently been lost on his furry counterpart (which was all the more infuriating as Keroberos was the only one of two that actually bothered with all this eating business to begin with). Perhaps all those years locked in a book had damaged the part of his brain meant to retain such information, or perhaps after Clow’s passing he just couldn’t be bothered to care any longer – Yue couldn’t be certain about that. What he could be certain of – that horrible, sticky truth that stared him directly in the face and mocked his fond memories of Clow – was that against all logic and probably several creation spells, Keroberos had, across the span of these many years, managed to develop the feeding habits of a deranged scavenger bent on destroying the entire local ecosystem.
It wasn’t just that he’d waited for their master to be otherwise occupied before breaking into the pantry to pilfer her coveted box mix. Nor was it the way he’d emptied an entire bottle of golden syrup over the top of his stack, or given only the briefest consideration to adding the chocolate syrup as well before decided to drink that straight from the bottle. The noises he made while stuffing his gullet were disturbing, but failed to divulge the full scale of his gluttony.
No, it was really the way he caressed the plate with his tongue once the cakes themselves had been devoured, humming happily at each rediscovered crumb it ran across and leaving his face coated in a golden, sticky mess that left Yue staring in shock and wondering just how things had gone so wrong for this once majestic creature.
Keroberos groaned low in his throat and collapsed across the table, completely spent.
Actually, if Yue replaced “deranged scavenger” with “sex-starved teenager” (and heavens knew he’d been subject to enough of them in recent days), he found the metaphor worked all the better.
He shuddered and slunk back around the corner.
He had no idea why he’d even thought coming out for a bit of fresh air today was a good idea in the first place.
<3333
Re: The Love That Dare Not Scrape the Plate
Or maybe the dirt just lies in the eye of the spectator, RIGHT, YUE!<3333333333333333333I love you both for this one. PanKero, OTP! :DDD
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AND YET THE IMAGE OF KEROBEROS LICKING HIS PLATE SO LOVINGLY CLEAN STAYED WITH YUE LATE INTO THE NIGHT.SO MUCH :DDDD!
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LIKE KERO LOVES THOSE PANCAKES. OH BABY.
/eyebrows FOREVER
Amanda. You are. You are the most magnificent.
Oh, Yue, baby, don't fight it- you know you wanna be that syrup-drenched plate...no subject
There's only one true pairing on my mind that deserves to be bestowed on this special, special occasion, and that is of course Mokona and Kurogane. They make excellent drinking buddies and Mokona had many times snuggled so close inside of the ninja, so if there's alcohol and/or snuggling involved, the occasion will be complete. <3
A Happy 14th to you, too!
Self Abuse
/hides in the corner of shame
<3
“For the last time, manjuu, my coat is not an amusement park.” Kurogane jams an arm through the neck of his jacket, plunging into its depths and knocking off several buttons in the process. Its insides are overly furry though (because this damned world was overly cold), and it proves far too difficult to tell the zig-zagging ears apart from the coat itself. He gropes fruitlessly for a few seconds before deciding that it really isn’t worth ripping out the entire lining just for the sake of ritual manjuu slaughter.
“It’s an abusement park!” the laughter shrieks from somewhere around his waist.
“What?” He is going to kill it when he finds it… He has no idea how shopping for groceries has become an exercise in rage restraint, but it has and he’s failing badly at it.
“That’s what the book says!”
“What book?” Kurogane suddenly stiffens, remembering a small leather-bound nothing that may or may not be secreted away in an inner breast pocket…
“Kurogane’s Daily Self Abuse Log!” Mokona chirps, now apparently somewhere in his right armpit.
That’s it. The thing has to die. Kurogane gives up all sense of proportion and tears the coat away with a mighty RIP that echos across the crowded streets. People are staring, but he couldn’t give two fucks at the moment, instead focusing all his attention on the irritating cream puff still hanging on with one hand to the fur lining of the coat he’s dangling and staring down with enough fire in his eyes to light several suns. He jostles the coat up and down a few times, but it refuses to fall off. Instead, it grins and lifts the small book up to its face.
“Sweat. The afternoon smell of warmed tatami mats amidst dust. Your skin.”
“How is that self abuse?” Kurogane roars and tosses the coat to the street.
Mokona cocks her head back at him, still reeling a bit from the impact. “Well, Kuro-puu, sometimes when a man loves his hand very much-”
“It’s not about masturbation!” Kurogane screams (before he remembers that it is a busy street and people are now stopping to stare).
“It’s not?”
Kurogane snatches back up the tattered pieces of his coat before anything else can possibly embarrass him further and hisses at the fur ball buried within it. “It. Is. Poetry. You. Little-”
“But it doesn’t even rhyme! How was Mokona supposed to know?”
“It’s Japanese poetry – it doesn’t need to rhyme!” he stomps forward. He’s now forgotten completely just where the store is located, which is just fan-fucking-tastic as it’s freezing and his coat is destroyed. He stifles a shiver and storms through the crowd.
“Kuro-puu…”
“Shut up.”
“But Mokona can help!” The blasted thing crawls out of its furry, shredded nest to perch on his shoulder. He’d bat it away, but it’s warm against the cold wind and goddamn it, it owes him that much. “Let’s see…sweat, wet, vet, net, upset, cigarette-”
“That’s enough,” Kurogane grumbles, even if the talking is making his face warmer. He nuzzles one cheek further into the fur blob – it’ll do in a pinch, he decided.
“Smell, yell, bell, swell- Hey! Swell would work really well here Kuro-”
“I said that’s enough!” Kurogane grinds out between chattering teeth. He can’t even tell if he’s shaking with rage or cold anymore. Everything is blinding hatred and snow and-
“Kuro-puu, are you cold?” Mokona asks suddenly.
“Of course I’m cold,” Kurogane barks. Where in the world was that damned store? It could have been this far off…
“Mokona will keep you warm, then!” it decides. Before Kurogane even has a chance to argue, it’s wrapped its furry little arms around his neck. Its ears are flapped over his stinging cheeks and its hugging awfully tight… But it’s nice, in its own way. Which is weird and wrong and never going to be spoken of again, but for the moment it’s fine.
“You don’t have-” Kurogane begins, but a quick turn of his head to the side reveals a very contrite face (which is completely out of place such a happy little critter and shuts up any more bile-spewage from him). “Whatever.”
“Mokona is sorry,” it squeaks quietly.
“Yeah, yeah.” There’s the store, just ahead. Only a few more moments of this biting cold. “You make a good muffler,” he concedes, “Might turn you into one permanently.”
“Kuro-puu,” Mokona sqeals indignantly and kicks at his neck with all her might. The collar on his shirt stretches and snaps back against his neck with a single smooth movement. He wrenches the door to the shop open and plucks his over-active “muffler” from his neck.
“Goddamn it, manjuu. My clothes are not an amusement park.”
Re: Self Abuse
Manda, you're the best~!
And, and, Mokona should have finished her rhyming.
Sweat
makes your pits wet.
Their afternoon smell
is downright swell.
On warmed tatami mats
We have drunken chats!
Amidst dust
I lust
for your skin.
fin.
~by Kuro-daddy for Fai-mommy
Re: Self Abuse
Oh no, do not fret. I was looking forward to the inevitability of crack along with the sense that there may be something fluffy and sweet going on between them.
"Abusement" park, Japanese poetry versus subtext, the fact Kurogane yells "masturbation" out loud in the streets, AND MOKONA BEING THE BEST WARM ACCESSORY EVER AND HE AGREES.
Thank you so much, Uakari. <3 <3 <3
Re: Self Abuse
AND SECRETLY ENJOYING IT WHICH IS NEITHER HERE NOR THERE./DIES FROM THE CUTE <3333
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Fai and Kurogane, involving tentacles.
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Architeuthifornicatus follicullus
The sheer number of tentacles wrapping around him seemed to grow by the second. He had no idea what depths they were unfolding from, only that they seemed to replicate with supernatural speed – each one covered with short, prickly spikes that dug into his skin and held him tighter than the last. He felt his eyes roll back into his sockets as the final tentacle coiled around his throat. This would be the end of him.
If only he hadn’t left Ginryuu at the foot of the bed…
“Oh for gods’ sakes, Kuro-sama,” Fay grumbled across his mug of tea, “There is no such thing as a Giant Needle-rimmed Bed Invader Squid. And even if there were, I really doubt the scientific name would be Architeuthifornicatus follicullus.”
“You don’t know that,” Kurogane doubled down, banging his fists against the table. It had been the worst night of his life – the most Fay could do was listen to his harrowing tale.
“Look, I’ll shave my legs, but if anyone is sleeping on the couch, it’s going to be you.”
“But-“
“And Kuro-rin.”
“What?”
“The next time you feel like putting everyone off seafood, could you wait to do it until we’re not in a world that is 99% water?”
Re: Architeuthifornicatus follicullus
This is my favorite, so far (though it's in harsh competition with the Nezu/Shion bakery fic).
(Oh god. He'll shave his legs. *still giggling helplessly*)
Re: Architeuthifornicatus follicullus
<33333
Poor Kurogane, with a clingy spikey-legged leechy for a bed partner XD
Re: Architeuthifornicatus follicullus
This is great - my happy thought for the day <3
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NEZUMI AND SION INVOLVING SWEETS FROM THE BAKERY.
WHAT o___o
/SNUGGLES YOU WITH DEEPEST FONDNESS! <333
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/writing this right now
....you should be on MSN >.>
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/SIGNING IN TO FLAIL IN PERSON LIKE NOW
Jam Packed
There is something about the way Nezumi is leaning against the counter, Sion decides, that borders on obscene. Maybe it’s the curve of his spine – arched into a near-perfect U – or the tilt of his head as it presses into his palm. Maybe it’s the lazy smile plastered across his face, or the amount of teeth showing through his grin.
Maybe it’s the fact that he’s talking to a middle-aged mother of three as if she were a blushing, giggling school girl while her children run amok between shelving units.
Sion swallows thickly and sets a pan of croissants – still hot from the oven – onto the counter. He’d say something, but-
“It’s always a pleasure,” Nezumi trills as he slips a few extra rolls into her bag and bundles the parcel into a neat, compact lump, “Same time tomorrow? Shall I save you a butter roll?” There’s something particularly dirty about the way those words roll off his tongue that makes Sion grip the counter – partially for balance, but mostly to relieve some of the pressure building inside him and prevent his eyeballs bulging out of his sockets. He grimaces and glances over at the children, who are now clamoring toward the door, all raucous laughter and happy smiles and completely unaware of this little scene playing out at the counter.
There’s that, at least.
He loosens his grip – ever-so-slightly – as goodbyes and promises of a return trip are exchanged and finally releases it fully as the bells on the door jingle. He wipes his hands on his apron and sighs quietly as Nezumi returns to his usual slouch at the counter.
“What?” Nezumi’s drone cuts across the room. He’s picking at his teeth now, digging the nail of his pinky between them in a manner that suggests he really couldn’t be more bored if he tried. He pauses a moment before rolling lazily against the counter’s edge to face Sion. “What vexes Your Majesty?”
Sion swallows again, because there is no good answer to this question. He doesn’t actually feel vexed – there is nothing about this just-run scene that he hasn’t been party to on a dozen other occasions, nothing that really ought to stir his emotions at all. And yet, here they are. Admiration (he’s managed to work her into a half dozen more rolls that she normally buys), embarrassment (kids, kids, kids), and maybe a tiny bit of jealousy (that would explained that just-punched-in-the gut sensation), all wrapped up in a layer of awe so thick that he has to fight his way through just to identify the rest. He’s not at all sure there are words to describe this jumbled mess, but vexing certainly doesn’t do it justice. “That was…amazing,” he splutters at long last.
Nezumi cocks an eyebrow. “Really, Sion,” he groans and pinches his long-suffering temples, “It’s all so easy.”
“What is?” Sion blinks. The irritated sneer is all too familiar, but the tirade that accompanies it is notably missing, replaced instead with heavy-lidded eyes and a clucking tongue as Nezumi saunters toward him. The sneer itself works into an unmistakable pout as Nezumi leans closer to twine one hand into the short hairs behind Sion’s ear. Nezumi presses his forehead against Sion’s, and hot breath billows across his ear as he speaks.
“Every last one of you,” Nezum hisses and Sion can feel the grin forming against his cheek, “So easy to work.” He digs he knee in between Sion’s thighs and worms his free hand into the small of his back. “I don’t even have to try and you’ll all buy my biscuits and stare jealously over my shoulder.”
Sion coughs and leans backward, ignoring the jolt up his spine. He starts to say that this isn’t jealousy – not in its purest form anyway – but he’s caught off-guard by the way the hair on his neck stands to attention and the bones in his limbs seem to throb with a dull ache and chokes the words back. This isn’t-
“Don’t you want to argue?” Nezumi goads and teases a finger beneath the hem of Sion’s shirt (he flinches as fingerpads trace across sensitive skin and okay, maybe it is, just a little bit), “Tell me all about how you’re not that easy and neither are all the customers who come in here to gawk?”
“No,” Sion cranes his neck backward further. “I think it’s amazing how you convince people so easily,” he grinds out, “But-”
“But?” Nezumi prompts and Sion shudders at just how smarmy he sounds. It’s sugar sweet and dripping with sex, but it isn’t-
Sion’s hands slide backward against the countertop, palms skipping and slapping against the floured surface until his knuckles smack into the cold base of a metal bowl. He raps his index finger against it quietly. “Uh,” he stammers, “No, it’s just-”
“Just?” Nezumi leans in for the kill, mouth open and angling for Sion’s throat.
There’s a cold sensation down his shoulder blades in the next instant – tickling and rolling and piling into the crevices where his shirt is tied tight by his apron. It takes him another second to realize that Nezumi is laughing - laughing - still bent over him with a handful of raisins. Most of which are now residing down the back of his shirt, but enough are still trickling out from his grasp to tickle his neck annoyingly.
He stares, open-mouthed, as the laughter begins to roll out of Nezumi in earnest. “I can’t believe you some days,” Nezumi roars, “Staring at me like some terrified tanunki. Turned into stone or something. What did you think I was going to do?”
“N-nothing,” Sion manages to choke out. His stomach is shaking with laughter too, which has somehow managed to shake loose all the knots that seemed ready to cordon it off permanently only a moment ago. This is much better, he realizes with a start, and gleefully taps at the metal bowl again. “And I wasn’t-” he starts, then thinks better of it and snaps his mouth shut. If he has the vocabulary of a chimpanzee, then surely he has the motor skills to match. He grins and whips his hand out from behind his back, fingertip coated with icing he’s pilfered from the bowl, and swipes it across Nezumi’s nose.
The reaction is everything he could have hoped for – a fantastic mix of shock, revulsion, and just plain befuddlement (and this is so much better that before). Sion doesn’t take the time to chuckle – even though it’s what he wants more than anything – but hikes up onto his tiptoes to lick it off. He misses, though, and finds his entire mouth stuffed full of nose (and frosting) a second later. Which is fine, really, and he smirks around his mouthful as he pulls back, teeth scraping down the contours and across the bulb of Nezumi’s nose.
Nezumi stares at him for a long moment, lips peeling back across his cheeks in disgust. Sion only grins. Terrified tanuki indeed.
“You,” Nezumi stammers, blinking wildly, “You bit my nose.”
Sion bats his eyelashes innocently and cocks his head to the side. He’s practiced this look, and he is more proud of it than he probably should be.
“You actually bit it.”
“I was only trying to get the frosting off-”
“You bit-”
“It was much sweeter this way.”
Nezumi’s eyes narrow and his lips purse as he thumbs at the sugar residue left around his nostrils. “You’re sick,” he declares and turns on his heel.
He expected this much. Already, he’s busily formulating an apology – one sincere enough to cover the biting without devolving into half-truths about the entire exercise. “Nezumi, I’m sorry I bit you. Please don’t-”
He’s not expecting the handful of blueberry jam that thwacks across his face and smears a thick line down his neck and accordingly only kind of gapes like a shocked fish back at his attacker. Nezumi has replaced the pout with a wicked grin that stretches from ear to ear and the likes of which Sion isn’t certain he’s seen before. It’s…well, it’s terrifying if he’s being honest with himself. He can’t actually tell if this is amusement or anger or something else entirely.
“This is fair, right?” Nezumi is saying as Sion’s attention wanders away from the sticky trail of fruit working its way beneath his collar, “If you’re going to reduce me to an eating utensil, then I should get to lick my plate clean, too.”
“Huh?” Sion is only half aware of what’s going around him, mostly because Nezumi is moving lightening fast to pin him back against the counter and crane his neck to the side to expose the jam. His mouth comes crashing down in short order, teeth bared and scraping and oh good god that is going to leave a mark. Sion squeals, keens, something – he doesn’t have a clue at the moment, but there is air rushing out his throat and some sort of noise that he is mostly sure he’s making is battering his eardrums. Not that it matters all that much, because it turns into shrieking a split-second later as Nezumi’s hand creeps up the hem of his shirt and pokes into his sides.
“Thop wugglin,” Nezumi insists, his mouth full of jam and skin and probably the undersides of several of Sion’s more important glands as well, “It thaste tho much thweether this way.”
He’s sorry. He’s SORRY. There aren’t words for how very sorry he is as Nezumi’s sticky fingers continue to dig their way into all the most sensitive parts of his abdomen, smearing blueberry across his belly and catching evilly in the fine hairs there. He’s groping behind him for the bowl of icing again – maybe if he can reach it, he can turn this back in his favor – but every time he nicks the edge of it, another shockwave rolls through him and his knees threaten to buckle under.
He has no idea how they manage to end up on the floor, but he’s hardly surprised – the floor is littered with a coating of loose flour that makes even his rubber soled shoes a hazard if he steps wrong (and is now going to be caked into all the crevices usually hidden by his clothes – lovely). Nezumi has abandoned his attempts to gnaw through his neck in favor of licking his cheek, apparently intent on making good his promise to clean his plate, as it were. His mouth really would be put to better use, Sion thinks, somewhere just a bit more medial and on top of his own lips, but weasling him in that direction is harder than it should be and no matter how many times Sion manages to wrench his face in the right direction, it’s never quite fast enough to catch Nezumi’s mouth. He wrestles his hands out from where they’re trapped underneath of him and gropes wildly, finally managing to catch Nezumi’s cheeks between his palms and flexing his fingers hard to pull him forward, finally-
The tinkling of bells on the front door leave his victory short-lived. It dawns on him that he’s lying on the floor, covered in jam and straddled by what probably appears to the untrained observer to be a ravenous, slurping rodent. They’re both covered in flour as well, though Nezumi, ever the cooler of the two under pressure, manages to shake most of his coating off before getting to his feet and stalking to the counter.
“Stay down,” he hisses back at Sion, who nods bewilderedly and swipes at the jam on his face with a shirtcuff.
He doesn’t mention that his clammy palms have left dusty handprints all across Nezumi’s cheeks.
It’s Mrs. Takai at the counter – a regular with whom they’re both very well acquainted – and Nezumi has her usual order rung up before he even says hello. She’s only taking a handful of rolls today though, and no matter how Nezumi flirts, smiles, or arcs his back against the counter, she won’t be taking any more than that. She’s not really paying attention, anyway. Sion knows this because she’s staring directly at him, eyes wide and mouth twisted into a funny little smile that seems to force all of her insistences that “these are great plenty” up and out her nose. He smiles back, all too well aware that “stay down” was probably the worst thing he could have done here, and wishes the layer of flour on the floor was about three feet deeper than it actually is.
Nezumi tucks a few extras into her bag anyway and sends her on her way, smiling and waving as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He waits until the bells jingle again before spinning back around to gape at the frumpled mess on the floor. Once again, Sion has no idea whether he’s amused or angry and only stares back at him, biting his lips and trying very hard not to laugh.
“You’re a mess,” Nezumi finally says with a snort.
“And you’re losing your touch,” Sion laughs, “Only two that time.”
“You’re developing a really unattractive nasty-streak,” Nezumi scoffs, “I’ll sell six more to the next person through here.” He taps his finger ruefully against his chin for a moment, then sighs and shirks out his apron, which he deposits over the top of Sion’s head. “Clean up. We’re lucky that wasn’t your mama.”
“Right,” Sion wipes the jam from his face with a grin that is probably every bit as dopey as he feels, “Six, you said?”
“Yeah,” Nezumi says, hands on his hips, “Six.” He rounds back on Sion. “Why?”
“Just making note,” Sion pulls the apron away from his face, “I’ll just go clean up a bit. You okay here?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nezumi waves him away and turns back to the counter.
The bells on the door jingle again as Sion stumbles into the backroom. He smiles to himself as he hears Nezumi chatting away once again and dabs at his cheek with a wet rag. The poor customer is getting the full treatment, he realizes, and decides that it’s a far better show viewed from a distance. He’ll probably make that sixth sell, too, from the sounds of things.
And it will probably be all the sweeter for the floury handprints still decorating his cheeks.
Re: Jam Packed
Dear god, you make me love them, so much! The HANDPRINTS, and the JAM, and Shion LICKING ALL OF NEZUMI'S NOSE! :DDDDD This is BEAUTIFUL, they're ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE! MANDA, ILU SO MUCH! :DDDDDDDDD /grinning so hard her cheeks are hurting
/puddle of flailing squee
Re: Jam Packed
BUT WHO CARES ABOUT POWER BECAUSE OMFG I CAME HOME AND THERE WAS THIS! *_______*
I CANNOT EVEN TELL YOU HOW HARD THIS MAKES ME SQUEE. NEZUMI WORKING THE MIDDLE-AGED MUMS AND SION WORKING NEZUMI WITH THAT PERFECT BAMBI LOOK AND HE BIT HIS NOSE!! THEIR ADORABLENESS KNOWS NO BOUNDS AND YOU MAKE ME LOVE THEM SO MUCH!
THEY ARE INCREDIBLY LUCKY IT WAS NOT SION'S MAMA.
/LOVES YOU MASSIVELY <33333
/RUNS OFF TO READ OTHER FILLS :DDD
Re: Jam Packed
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"Why the HELL is that kid bringing some girl? Why does he have to make a big deal out of one of his friends tagging along?"
There that is it
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clothes ( because I can't think of anything else right now)
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and still got the damn song stuck in my head!! :DDDDDDDno subject
Watanuki’s face grappled with itself for a moment over whether the more appropriate response was sneering or smirking. In the end, it settled on smirking, but allowed his eyes to pull into a not-altogether-appropriate glare as well. Of course it had to be pink, he cackled silently to himself, everyone knew the pink bear was the best of the group. What kind of deranged childhood had this Doumeki had, anyway?
“It itches.”
“Of course it itches!” Watanuki spluttered, “It would completely defeat the purpose of a price if it didn’t!”
“It’s only rice balls-”
“You mean the Ultra Mighty Balls of the Great and Magnanimous Watanuki-sama-sama! You should be so lucky to eat them!”
“Yes, those balls.”
“Oh, shut up,” Watanuki grumbled and turned back to the chicken grilling on the stove behind him. Doumeki had never been able to recognize a good deal when it slapped him across the face. “Actually, no,” he grinned and waved his arm in the general direction of the refridgerator, “I need the mayonnaise. Find it for me.”
“I don’t see it,” Doumeki mumbled after a few moments of fruitless searching.
Watanuki carefully slid the jar labled ‘Mayo’ behind his mixing bowl. “Just keep looking,” he snapped. Why couldn’t he just stop talking? Especially now that the little tail was waggling just so as he shuffled back and forth on his feet, checking each and every corner of the fridge- “Do a little Care Bear stare or something.” He sighed as Doumeki bent around to stare directly and accusingly at him. “Maru, Moro – give him a hand.”
“Yay, Doumeki is furry!” the girls chorused as they pulled Doumeki back into the proper configuration of “bent-semi-lasciviously-into-the-ice-box” (which mostly seemed to consist of petting his arms, but was getting the job done well enough that Watanuki wasn’t going to complain). This was much better.
“Actually, I think Watanuki is the furry.”
“YOU WATCH YOUR MOUTH!” Watanuki slammed the spatula against the rim of the bowl. Honestly, the crap he put up with on a daily basis.
Oh well, as long as that tail kept twitching, they could call him whatever they wanted…
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And Watanuki is definitely a furry, enjoying the tail waggling that much. He'd probably pair up My Little Ponies, given the chance.
Oh god, I can totally see Maru and Moro clinging to Doumeki's fuzzy arms! <333
/LOVES ON YOU LIKE MAD
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You remember when Mikke wanted to do that mock-fandom thing with these guys...? I WANT TO DO THAT RIGHT NOW. Watanuki and Doumeki can argue over pony ships >.>
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And then, ponies. <33333333
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MONOSYLLABIC FAN FIC
JUST
WHAT
/DED
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Tragic.
Rarity and Spike. Expensive dinner. No sex. Angry Rarity's question: Why did I pay for this? She then makes out with Fluttershy. No dinner.
The End.
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They're stuck in a world and Kurogane is bored, so he starts flipping through the TV channels, and it's saturday morning, so it's all cartoons. Most of the cartoons look weird and gross, so he ends up watching MLP despite the bright colors and high voices just because the animation quality is a little better.
And then some of the characters start reminding him of his family, and from there on in, he's just hooked. :D
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Because this would really be the cherry on top XD
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