Now, I like to think I started the whole metamorphisis into unrecognizable characters, ie: 5 inch Spike who cries and sings the Ramones. Or an Angel who turns into Scarlett O'Hara. But then, I also like to think I have no fat on my ass, that I have a lovely singing voice, and on really bad days, that I invented the wheel. And today I feel the need to do it yet again. So: if you get offended by poking fun at fandom at large, GO AWAY. Won't hurt my feelings. But this might hurt yours. And now I give you:
And you should all endure my banner because it is the LYNCHPIN in my fic, OMG. Are we still doing banners? I don't know this stuff anymore.
Title: Seahorses in Love - A Spander Tale
Author: Duh. Like anyone else would change Spike or Xander into anything NOT Vampire and Human. Wait... Inspired by a lazy Sunday morning with dovil where we laughed and cried. But mostly laughed. And had brunch.
Rating: pH of 7.2 - slightly alkaline
Disclaimer: OMG, this is beautiful. And my art. And my soul. And if you can't get behind this... HA HA!! You have brains and I salute you. If you are offended by this silliness, you should also calm down and step outside and engage in real life. Because dude: this is what I DO. Surely you aren't just figuring this out? If so? OMG don't read. It'll just confuse you.
Distribution: Are you on crack? And why haven't you passed the dutchie on the left-hand side?
Beta: HA HA HA HA HA!!!
And now... SEAHORSES IN LOVE - A SPANDER TALE
"I hate you!" Spike-horse telepathically shouted at his girlfriend, Buffy the Spiny Urchin. "I hate you more! Now bang me!" she thought back at him. Her needles were puffed out, and she was ballooning towards poor little Spike-horse.
"Gah!" he thought, and shed a single perfect tear, and sped away from the kelp, and from the very scary and very mean Buffy, the Spiny Urchin. Why can't I find true love? What with hiding from morons who want to grind me up and turn me into an aphrodisiac, hiding from the hideous and disgustingly heterosexual Buffy, the Spiny Urchin, I feel like I could just stop my gas bladder from inflating and end it all, the little Spike-horse woed.
"Hey," someone thought out. Spike-horse whirled by lashing his tail and found... Another seahorse. Right. In. Front. Of. Him. But this was no ordinary seahorse. This one had flowing locks of chocolate brown hair. (Once a wrapper from a candy bar floated past the kelp where he lived and Spike-horse learned about chocolate.) Spike-horse had assumed all seahorses had punked-out platinum, bleached-blonde hair. He felt a stirring in his brood pouch.
"H-h-hey," he mentally stammered, wondering if the sea cucumber, Tara, was rubbing off on him. Spike-horse swished his pectoral fins in greeting; he was a friendly seahorse. "What's your name?" he wondered in his neural groove that served as his brain. Seahorses don't have vocal chords - they are very thinky aquatic creatures.
"I'm Xander, but call me Sander. For some reason. I don't have hands, just these coronets and cheek spines, so I can't write or anything. Or speak. We're talking to each other mentally. Cool, huh? What's up with that? And aren't girls gross? I pretend to like girls, but really? I'm all down with the anal fin. If you know what I mean."
Spike-horse didn't. But the stirrings in his brood pouch belied him. THEY BELIED HIM. As Spike-horse was a friendly sort, or rather, he didn't have a mean trunk ridge in his exoskeleton, he let himself float up to his new buddy and then stroked his snout to Sander's.
Something... changed. Shifted. Altered. Metamorphisized. He suddenly realized why he didn't really care about Buffy, the Spiny Urchin, even after all their time together. Aside from her needles, and that she made herself buoyant all the time when Spike-horse approached her for coupling causing her to bounce away like a beach ball, but because Buffy, the Spiny Urchin, didn't have ANAL FINS. His posterior orientation had changed with a single moment. He longed to run his facial spines in that wavy brown hair. To snuggle on a coral reef and watch the jellyfish play.
His watery life, it seemed, had changed in an instant.
"Um, in a very short time, and for no discernible reason other than your looks, I seem to have fallen in love with you, Sander," he meditated.
"You know, it's weird, because I'm currently involved with a puffer fish named Anya, which is strange, as they normally eat seahorses, but..." Sander shrugged his dorsal fin while telepathically speaking, "But, yeah. I know what you mean. Hey, um, some random chick seahorse gave me her eggs, but I feel compelled to give them to you. I know it's forward of me to ask, me just swimming by here a few minutes ago, but... I feel really sure about this. Which is strange? Because I'm totally the waffle king." An Eggo-Waffle box had sunk to his corner of the ocean not too long ago, and thereby Sander had learned the word "waffle."
Spike-horse's eyes became heavy lidded, and his head rolled back as his anal fin rose in acceptance. Sander swam close and stroked his anal fin against the blonde seahorse who had won his three hearts. Their vents opened, and after a sensual dance of fin and tail and ridged spine, Sander deposited his eggs into Spike-horse's brood pouch. He glowed with fatherly beauty.
"Sander?" he thought, because hey - no vocal chords, "Sander, the lining of my brood pouch will nourish our children until I expel them out into the sea, where only 2% of them will have a chance for survival. But we will love and cherish those 2%, won't we?"
Sander floated side by side with his new and perfect love, curled tails, flared his gills, and mentally delivered the one sentence that Spike-horse had waited to hear his entire life: "Yes."
I'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waiter and please: try the fish.
And you can defriend me without regrets at this point. No worries. :-D