You never understood why people hated fluffies when you were young. Call it a sheltered life, unawareness of the world, or just apathy towards them entirely. You just never gave a shit. Your sister was more of a sporty type, so she never even thought about fluffies. Too busy with track and field for glorified hamsters. Your family had a dog that would scare ferals away and was an amazing pet besides, so you never wanted for animal companionship. Never associated with the kids who skinned foals alive or shoved firecrackers up their asses at recess or otherwise abused them. Just didn’t seem like fun, and the lingering smell of blood and shit made you nauseous. No, you never had anything to say about them other than they annoyed you when they wouldn’t shut up. “Sav babbeh!” “Pweez sav speshal fwend!” “Giv smawty wahm haws and wub! Or Smawty giv wowest owwies! Giv dummeh humman fohevah sweepies!” Hearing them warble all that in passing when you didn’t even pay them any attention was grating, but never worth being covered in their blood, piss, or shit by stomping them or otherwise.
It was when you got older and got your part time job delivering pizza that you started to see why people hated them so much and called them “shit rats.” Couldn’t go a single day without seeing one of them hump a foal to death, covering each other in piss or shit, or otherwise being hellspawn. The number of times they chased after you while you delivered pizza was idiotic. Generally, you didn’t lash out cause it was just a female “needing nummies for babbehs.” Can’t fault a mom for wanting food for it’s kids, regardless of if she was an annoying and active drain on the planet. You would just keep walking, or maybe give one half a granola bar if it had any manners and said “pweeez nisest mistah!” Other than that? Nothing.
Until that one day in fall.
You needed to walk up this stupid tall apartment complex to deliver for a party. It was top floor, penthouse bullshit. Elevator was broken so you had to carry a stack of fifteen pizzas up some 20 floors? Arms tired, legs tired, and patience wearing thin, guy at the top was a major stoner, and gave you a nice cloud of hotbox smoke when he opened the door.
“Brroooooo…dudes got the pizza hookup!” Excited but drawn out “Broooooooooo!!” echoed behind him.
“Hey, it’s $220 man.” was all you could muster. 30 minutes or less bullshit meant you busted your ass to get it here, but you didn’t expect much as you fought to breathe in normal air vs second hand pot smoke.
“Bro… man, here’s…” he pulls out his wallet, and gave you a 270 in tens. “269 plus 1 bro!” Him and all his buddies almost drop to the ground laughing, but you were just baffled to so much extra as a tip.
“Woah, thanks man!” You were just about to hand them all over when he takes them out of your hands, and hands one back. “What…?”
He opens the one on the bottom. Extra cheese, extra pineapple. He takes one slice, and calls out behind him, “Blazeit! Come ere little broski!!”
From behind him waddles a fat, dark green fluffy. “Nummmmmies!” is all the fluffy could say. Looking closely, its higher than a fucking kite despite probably not getting too much smoke. The guy takes half the pineapple pizza, and gives it to the fat fluffy, who proceeds to waddle back into the highrise, chewing on it’s massive meal. For it’s size, anyway. He stands back up, and sighs in contentment as it’s little wings flap in joy.
He turns back to you, and says “Go ahead and keep that pie man. None of us like pineapple, but Blazeit over there is celebrating his 1st birthday here. Told him I’d order him his favorite if he didn’t shit or piss outside his litter box for a month. Didn’t think it would happen, but here we are. Thanks man. Have a good night, yuh? Don’t forget to pay it forward!”
As he shuts the door, leaving you with half a free pizza and an extra 50 dollars richer, you thank god for rich people and their fluffies. Walking down the stairs though and back to your bike, is where you see the opposite spectrum for fluffies once again. You see a mare, ribs showing and blue fur dull and ragged, showing her baby to passerby.
“Pweez! Pweez gib wahm hausie, and sketti for miwkies! Babbeh go fowebah sweepies suhn! Boo boo juice wahnt stawp! Babbeh need miwkies and no cowdies to ged beddah! Save bestest babbeh!” all the while holding a pink little foal, with looks like a bleeding head. She’s in the same alley you parked your bike, so you can’t really slip by her. You kneel down, balancing the pizza in one hand, and see that the little fluffy used to be a… unicorn? You know their supposed to be horses or something, but never paid attention. You wouldn’t be paying attention now either if you weren’t in such a good mood.
“Jesus Christ. Yeah, sure, I’ll help.” You walk past the fluffy, and her other babies chirping behind a trash can, to set the box of pizza on your bike. “Nisestest mistah hewp mommah? And babbehs? Yay!” That last screech was almost ear-piercing, but again, only normal to be happy and loud as fuck. “Hehe, yeah, sure, just be fucking quiet ok?” You pull down a box from a dumpster, and set it down behind the dumpster and out of sight. You gesture for the mom to bring it’s babies over, and be quiet. “Need to get you guys somewhere else. Probably just bring dogs over if I gave you something warm now.”
Maybe it was your brain cells dying en masse to be near such an intolerably dumb-sounding creature, but soon its words began to make more sense and sound clearer to your ears. “Yay! Bestest human give bestest momma and bestest babbehs home! Yay!” She begins herding her babies your way, most of them covered in shit or mud. One waddles far behind however, and it catches your attention. “Hey, you’re about to lose one.”
The mare looks back to see a white fluffy ball limping after. She sighs," Cum own munstah babbeh! Mabeh need for nummies later!" You aren’t too sure what it means by that, but the dirty white fluff ball comes closer as it begins to cry. “Huhuhu, no wanna be nummies! Wahn wub and huggies!” You begin to pick up the baby closest as the white one limps closer, doing your best to use old newspaper as gloves to not get covered in fluffy shit. “Pay it forward man, nice things happen to nice people…”
You pick up a little black one with wings, two little green ones hugging each other so tight you can’t separate them, a blue one like it’s mom with nothing special, and finally the pink unicorn goes in last. You pick up the mom fluffy (the fuck? she weighs nothing!) and finally, just walk closer to pick up the white fluff ball. It’s… got a horn and wings? Doesn’t that mean that it’s special, or something? Its hoof is kinda fucked, but just as you’re about to set it down(why is it crying “NU! Nu wannah be neaw meanie bwuddah!” near the black one?) you hear a shrill whine coming from the opposite end of the alley. “SCREEEE! MUNSTAH HEWMAN! SMAWTY SAV SPESHAW FWEN!”
You look left, and see a dis-GUSTING looking fluffy. Its red mane and puke green fur sears your eyes, but its shit-covered behind makes those colors even worse to look at. You know that it can’t do shit. “Chill little guy, I’m helping your-” you pause as you realise he is already charging you. “GIV BAK SPEHUW FWEEEND!” is his little war cry as he bumps into your shin. He actually had some speed, and might have done something if you were wearing shorts. “Geez, what a little hero!” is all you muster as you stand back up. He tumbled after he charged, so you roll him over with your foot as you nestle the alicorn(?) under your arm.
He quickly re-orients himself, before turning to you. His eyes bulge as shrill squeeks fill the alley:“Dwop munstah babbeh! Gib speshuw fwend! Neeb gud feews NUUU!” Some scattered and stale fries have fallen from his mouth as he spews this. You sigh and shake your head. Might as well take him with.
But you pause. The little foal under your arm has pissed in the newspaper you had her in and is dribbling out between her front hooves. Not too weird, until you also see the mare and babies have gone silent except for a few chirps and “Huuuuhuuuu… baddest daddeh is baaak…” Well, that with the sound of more pissing.
You look down again and ask the mare (she can talk, so she should be able to answer), “Why are you so scared of your, uh, special friend?”
She looks down between her hooves, and can barely muttter out, “Mommeh wan away… speshuw fwend… he enf all udder babbehs tuh fowebah sweepies! Huuuuuuhuuuuu… Mummah sav babbehs weft… PWEEZE NO WET SPESHAW FWEND HUWTIES BABBEHS! PWEEEZ! PWEEEZ! DADDEH SABE MUMMEH AN BABBEHS! AHUUUUUU! HUHUH-” She’s in hysterics now.
“The fuck is enf?”
The colt(?) at your feet takes on a wicked grin, as he stands up and reaches for the foal under your arm. “Smawty shu dummeh humman! Gib munstah babbeh! Smawty yews monstuh babbeh for bestes feews! Mayk monstuh babbeh tuh ENFIE BABBEH!” As he says this…
He gets a fucking boner.
For the second time, in the past five minutes you’ve been dealing with this clusterfuck, you ask yourself if this is worth it. The gears in your mind turn all the same until realize what “enf” is.
ENF IS FUCK.
HE FUCKED HIS BABIES TO DEATH?! WHAT THE FUCK!? Your eyes can’t help but take on a terrified panic as you look at the little foal under your arm. Then to the other foals in the box. Then to the mare, who is still crying and asking for “no more special huggies for babies.”
“Dummeh humman gib enfie babbeh nu!” You are pulled back to this shitty alley, and back towards this colt. Your mind is now unlocking repressed memories of fluffy torture at amazing speed, and suddenly the vocab used by all the abusers you’ve seen and talked to comes back as well. Special friends, special huggies, momma songs, smarties-
Your eyes narrow as you look down at this little… shit rat. He’s gotten tired of asking, and has now turned around to try and shit on you. “Dummeh humman take sowwy poopies! Den smawty gib humman wowest huwties, DEN SMAWTY WIWW ENF AWW DUMMEH BABBEHS! Dummeh mummah is wowest mummah! Wiww gib speshaw huggies untiw fowebah sweepies, den smawty wiww,” is as far he gets before you side step and punt his side.
He hits the alley wall with a thud and crack, and begins to squeal. Blood drips from his mouth and gets flecked onto the ground as he starts again. “DUMMEH HUMMAN! NU GIB HUWTIES TUH SMAWTIE! Smawtie gib wowest humman wowest speshaw huggies, den smawtie-SCREEEEEEEE-”
Nope. Nope, no more. You pull your sneaker off the shit rat’s front leg and step back. Still holding the foal, you set her down in a pile of rags by the dumpster and grab your pack off your shoulder. You keep pretty simple stuff in here in case your bike breaks. Air pump, wrenches, some WD40, usual road kit to not have to walk home from wherever you are. What you need though, as the FUCKING SHIT RAT keeps screeching is right on top. The most versatile solution to all of life’s problems: duct tape.
First problem: He’s too fucking loud, and won’t stop with the verbal diarrhea. So, the first solution: shut him up. “DUMMEH,” is all he gets out as you unroll a length of duct tape. He screeches again as you step forward, but is muffled as you hold his mouth shut. You wrap the duct tape first around his snout, then wrap it back around his head. One more wrap around the snout, and done. In all of about five seconds, he’s gone from ear rapist to eye molester only. He’s stunned for a second, before realizing he can’t open his mouth anymore. Disgruntled moans and muffled screeches are all he can do now. Ahhhh, peace.
With only one leg broken, he tries to stand and starts to drag himself away. Can’t talk, so you think we’re finished. Not a chance in hell.
Second problem: Running away. Second solution: More tape.
You grab him by the impromptu muzzle on the back of his head and drag him to the dumpster. You get behind it and out of sight and toss him against it. He makes some effort to call you a dummy human again, (you think, all you hear is "dmmemm hmemem!) but your hand against its throat stops that. Gasping and wheezing, you take another length of tape. You lift it up a bit and tape it by the throat to the outer dumpster wall. Not sure if it will hold, you tape its midsection as well. As all of this is going on, the mom and foals in the box are in awe. You’ve single-handedly saved them from fates worse than death, and haven’t even broken a sweat. “Nyu daddeh is stwonges daddeh…” Can’t lie, feels pretty good.
Just as you finish taping the fucker up, your phone buzzes. Shit, it’s your boss.
“DANIEL WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?! YOU GOOD SON?!”
Your boss is some grizzled vet from special forces. Which? He won’t say. Now, he runs a mom-and-pop pizza shop.
“Sorry Mr.Natelli. I uh, saw some fluffies and-”
“SHIT RATS?! SON, WE DON’T GOT TIME FOR HUGBOXY BULLSHIT! Fucking stomp em and be done with it! We still need to clean for the night after that massive order!”
He’s never liked fluffies. One too many incidents of them trying to get into “sketti bwed wand!” have ended in crushed fluffy heads in the doors, and rat traps catching more fluffies than rats. You really don’t want to just leave this little fucker to go just yet. This isn’t about abuse. This is just some human decency.
“Mr.Natelli, do you know fluffy speech and shit?”
“Son, the fuck do you mean?”
“Do you know what a,” you struggle to recall what the little waste of shit and blood said, “enfie baby is?”
Silence takes hold for a couple of moments. When Mr.Natelli speaks again, it’s with the same coldness he has when he talks about his ex-son-in-law.
“Where did you hear that? Did you hear a shit rat say that?”
“Uh, yes. Sir.”
You hear him sigh, and can already hear him put his head in one of his hands. “Son, did you find a shit rat humping something, and say that? Don’t answer. Just, look, get back here and-”
“I have the shit rat.”
“So you saw it?”
“Uh, no. Not quite? Not yet?”
“DANIEL, TAKE THE RIDDLE DICK OUT OF YOUR MOUTH AND FUCKING TALK!”
“Sir, I found a mare and her babies and put them in a box. Was about to move them away from an alley and closer to the shelter. On 5th and Maine? Just as I’m about to put the last foal in, this ‘smartie’ comes and charges into my leg. The mare and babies shit themselves, they AND the stupid shit rat said he raped all his other babies to death, and now I have him duct taped to a dumpster.”
“And you have all the others?”
“DANIEL, FUCKING COLORS. WHAT COLORS ARE THE SHIT RAT BABIES!?”
You’ve never actually heard him get so pissed at YOU before.
“Um, one black. Two green, one blue, one pink, and one white.”
He pauses. You have never heard him think so much instead of talking before.
“You in the alley beside the last order?”
“And you have the baby-raping shit rat there? With all the other babies being fine?”
“One has a broken horn, and the white one has a kinda fucked leg? But it’s wings and horn is fine.”
He pauses. AGAIN. What the fuck is going on with him?
“The white one has wings and a horn?” You can barely hear him, he’s talking practically in a whisper.
“Y-yes, sir. Is… is that bad?”
“Dan, I don’t give a fuck if that white one shits and pisses all over you. Hold it, keep it calm, and make sure it stays happy as can be. Stay there, and don’t hurt the one taped up anymore either.” He stops. “Nevermind hurt it all you want, but DON"T KILL IT. I’ll be there in an hour, need to close shop.”
The dial tone starts as he hangs up. You’re left standing in a dingy alleyway on a cold night in autumn, surrounded by fluffies and their shit. You sigh.
You walk over to the white foal (Nyu daddeh nu huwt munstah babbeh pweez…) and start wiping down with the rags. A little less shitty, you pick it up (Bad upies? ow guwd uppie? Nyu daddeh?) and wrap it up to make sure it doesn’t freeze. Bundled up, you take a sit against another dumpster and face the little shit as you hold his only redeeming mark on this world. He’s shit on the side of the dumpster, and covered his own belly in steaming piss. Still trying to cuss you out you guess, in its own little stupid way.
You get up and grab a pair of latex gloves from your pack. Usually need these for handling bike chain oil so you can keep your hands clean for pizzas, but now you don’t want to get covered in piss.
“Daddeh?” Shit, you forgot all about the mare in the box. “Yeah, little one?”
“Tummie huwts. Nee mak miwkies, but nu nummies!”
You take a quarter of the pineapple pizza from the box, and toss it in with the mare. “NUMMIES! TANK EW NYU DADDEH! Bestes Daddeh!”
The mare taken care of and her babies chirping happily, you walk over to the one whose being glaring daggers the whole time at you and the white foal.
“Shit rat. I will feed you…” you think for a second. “Bestest spaghetti, but first I need to make you look better. I need to touch your hind legs for a second. If you don’t piss or shit on me, I’ll let you down, give you food, and…”
You spit this out as best you can, but it still feels vile to say. “Bestest enfie baby.”
God, he looks so excited now. He nods excitedly even as his dong grows out, and you can even hear him say something like “knew smartie was bestest fluffy! Dummy human is turning into smartie human! Give smarties best of all things!” Of course, all you hear is muffled grunts.
The mare, babies, and white foal all gasp, and start apologizing. You shush them, saying “No, none of you! A different one!”
This calms all of them, and you can’t help but start to hate the mare and foals for calming down so quickly once they realized THEY weren’t in danger. Grabbing the duct tape again as the dumpster smartie starts humming happily (fucking disgusting shit), you notice the white foal is still crying.
“Hey, I said it wasn’t gonna be any of you. Chill.” You console her, petting her head with a finger.
“But… babbeh stiww gonna get huwt! Babbeh stiww gonnna go fowebah sweepies when daddeh… nu! Make munstah babbie enfie babbeh! nu huwt uddaw babbehs… uddew babbehs gud babbehs…nu am gud babbeh…”
Oh fuck, it has empathy. And isn’t a selfish little shit. Damn. Now she’s crying. Shit. Honestly, you don’t think you’ve cursed this much, mentally or verbally, ever in your life before. What is going on?
You get close to the foal and start whispering, “I’m not gonna give your bad daddy any good things. He’s been bad, so I’m gonna trick him. He’s not getting any babies so chill, ok?”
Once she realizes you aren’t about to eat her, she looks up into your eyes. She gazes into yours for a moment. Damn, are her eyes actually shaped like blue galaxies? How did Hasbio even do that?
“Yes. But keep crying, so he doesn’t figure it ok? Just a fake cry.”
“Okie. Wub ou bestes daddeh…”
Oh. Oh, that actually hit a chord. In a good way. Is this how hugboxers are made? She starts crying again all the same.
Walking over to the living embodiment of disgust on the dumpster, you kneel down and take a rag. You clean the piss and shit off his stomach as best you can, and almost retch when he moans after you touch his dick with the rag. Next is his shithole, which he is less enthused about. He makes a grunt and you can tell what he’s about to try.
“HEY! SHIT, AND I’M CUTTING YOUR DICK AND BALLS OFF!”
That makes his eyes go wide, but you can visibly see his gut constrict to hold in whatever was about to splatter on your knees. Perfect.
You really don’t want to, but your plan needs it. You wipe his ass with another dirty rag, and look at your handiwork. Still damp and shitty all over, but good enough. “Good. Now close your eyes, and I’ll let you down.”
He complies, and you finally can start. You grin like the devil himself as you grab a rock that looks barely too big width-wise, but perfect in length. So he doesn’t find out what you’re doing, you need to do this quickly.
You pull another length of tape out, and measure against the fluffy’s stomach. Good. “Almost done, keep your eyes closed!”
You place one end on the base of his spine and quickly shove the entire stone up its ass. Blood and shit almost start flowing out as you bring the other end of the tape up to where the length across it’s stomach is. The fluffy is actually still pretty loud as it screeches, but the tape now covering his ass and end of his dick keep any “sowwie poopies and pee pees” right on his fluff.
Another couple squares, and all the piss is dribbling from his stomach and all the way to his ass fluff. You sigh in contentment. Worth it.
You walk back over to the foal, who has since just started humming itself to sleep. You scrithc it’s head, eliciting a happy coo. The other babbies are now sleeping or suckling on their resting mom. Good. Even as the puke-colored fluffy screams something about “wowest poopie place owies,” all the others rest peacefully. Damn. They hate his guts as much as you. Cool.
You check your phone. Another 50 until Mr. Natelli gets here. Maybe. Traffic looked rough on the way here. Fuck.
You sit beside the white foal and pick it up. You put it in your lap, calming its peeps of terror, and gently stroke it to sleep as its shitty father screams in agony. Guess it was this little one’s lucky day.
God damn it.