Jitters had always had a fondness for the strange and unusual, whether it be cryptids, analog horror stories, or even simple oddities of nature. A hilarious paradox, considering his terribly anxious disposition. He didn’t particularly care for fluffies when the outbreak initially happened. In fact he had been considerably more distressed over the environmental damage that followed, but it’s been years since then and population control was steadily becoming more manageable. Everyone seemed to be used to fluffies just roaming around now.
He still didn’t particularly care for them, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious at times. How did the ones with horns glow? Why did they look the way they did? What gave them the intelligence level and sentience to speak human languages? Scientifically, these ‘living toys’ were a biological marvel as much as they were an environmental detriment. Behavior wise, on the other hand… At best they were aggravating, at worst… He wasn’t sure how these things were supposed to be toys for children…
Jitters continued to scroll through his phone, reading comments on a theory of Fluffies containing human DNA as an excuse to give them the ability to speak and the intelligence to hold conversations to a rather limited extent. He’d been returning from a run to the convenient store when he’d heard the sounds of sobbing coming from an alley.
He could just barely make out the sight of a brightly coloured mane hiding within a cardboard box. It was a fluffy. Of course it was a fluffy. Honestly, he should just leave and mind his own business, yet there was that nagging curiosity again.
He steps toward the crying critter, recoiling slightly at the rancid stench of the pile of feces right beside the warped and rotting cardboard.
“Eugh… Uh… H-Hello?” He asks, startling the fluffy from her crying, causing him to reactively flinch.
The pastel fluffy flapped her wings as she struggled for a minute to roll over in an effort to face him. “N-Nice mistew? Pwease, hewp Wady Beww… Babbehs gib wostest tummeh huwties! Huuhuuu…”
He crouches closer to her level, balking at the sight of blood and amniotic fluids pouring out of the mare. Several colourful bodies squirm in the mess, peeping quietly in search of warmth and milk. Getting a better look at the new mother, he sees that she is VERY pretty compared to most fluffies he’d seen. She had ornate patterns, all pastel in colour, specialized pupils that made flower shapes in her eyes, and multiple streaks of colour in her mane and tail.
“Pwease. Gib mummah babbehs fo’ wicky-cweanies… Mummah no can weach-HUUuuHuuhuuu! Huwties!!” She cries as her body contracts and pushes another foal out.
This fluffy had to have been someone’s escaped pet. There was no way she would just ask some random human to touch her offspring if she wasn’t, right? She was far too trusting, and far too pretty.
“Oh, uh… Sure?” He hesitantly answers, looking at the pile of squirming bodies. He really didn’t want to touch them, seeing as they were coated in warm, wet fluids and feces, He’d never actually seen a fluffy give birth though, and figured this might as well be an opportune time to find out what the process entailed.
He carefully tried to pick up the closest foal, cyan in colour, only for it to peep loudly when he raised it with two fingers by it’s scruff. The new mother cried out in response to the baby’s distress.
“Nu gib bad uppsies! Babbeh too wittwe!” She begs, causing Jitters to immediately dropped the foal as he anxiously cursed. “Shit! Sorry! Sorry! Fuuuck…”
He was not qualified nor prepared to be an emergency midwife.
Biting his inner lip, he carefully tries again, scooping up the foal in the palm of his hand and trying his best to bypass the disgustingly wet and slimy feeling of birthing fluids on his skin. He brings the peeping baby to the mother’s outstretched hooves, watching as she quickly snatches it from his grasp to lick the bloody mess from it’s tiny body.
“'Ou am pwetty baby! Mummah wuv 'ou!”
Once she was done, she asked for the next one, two which Jitters obliged, this time with a pink foal. The new mother gasps in delight.
“Pwetty wingie babbeh! Mummah wuv 'ouuuuhuuhuu!!” She cringes in pain, another foal being born. It’s clear she’s becoming exhausted, but she stubbornly cleans her offspring, only crying slightly as she whines, “Nu taste pwetty, huuhuu…”
“You’re doing good.” Jitters offers, his words are slightly hollow, only spoken out of an awkward obligation. Luckily the mare seems to appreciate the meager comfort. His interest turns to the next foal up for cleaning. This one had wings as well as a horn! He’d seen pictures of alicorns, but he hadn’t seen one in real life before! What a lucky find! A small, uncertain grin grows on his face as he offers it to the mare. “Hey, this one looks like it has your colour!”
The mare brightens up considerably, eyes sparkling with delight. “Wady Beww am have Bestest Babbeh with Mummah colour?!”
She cranes her neck to get a good look at her offspring, eyes eagerly analyzing the foal peeping in Jitters’ hand before breaking out into the most high pitched shriek of terror Jitters had ever heard.
Her wings flapped furiously in the confines of her cardboard box. Her legs scrambled and kicked furiously as if trying to find purchase to flee as fast as she could to no avail. Her hoof stomped down on top of her cyan baby, crushing the pitiful thing to the point that it’s organs had burst from it’s mouth. A loud splattering noise could be heard, followed by a cacophony of distressed peeps and chirps. Looks like she brute forced the rest of her offspring into the world without even realizing. One of them even tangling up in the matted mess that made up the end of her tail.
“What the fuck-” Jitters was so flabbergasted by her response, he didn’t comprehend what the issue could possibly be. That is until the mare kicked his hand, knocking the foal from his grasp.
The distressed baby bounces against the concrete, it’s tiny legs kicking wildly as it squeaks in pain and fear. It’s mother sees an opening, and raises a hoof to bring it down as hard and fast as she can. Jitters frantically sweeps his hand in, scooping up the foal before the mare can crush it to death. “What the hell?! Why are you trying to kill it?!”
“Dat am bad babbeh! Am Munstah Babbeh! Nu wet munstah babbeh huwt mummah o’ babbehs!” She shrieked, tears falling down her grimy, fuzzy cheeks.
“What? It’s a baby! How could it possibly hurt you?!” He questions, utterly confused by this sudden change in demeanor.
“Munstah am Munstah! Wiww num babbehs an’ steaw bestest miwkies! BAD! BAD BABBEH! NO WUV!” Her begging desperation turns to frustration as Jitters holds the crying alicorn foal away. He had seen enough, maybe he should find some help, or just leave the mare and her other young where they are.
“Riiight, I uh, I’m gonna go…” He replies, standing up as the Mother struggles to stand the best she can. Her other babies rolled off her legs, tumbling at the lack of care into each other as they peep desperately for warmth, affection, and milk. “Wait! Take Wady Beww and Babbehs homsie! Nee’ nummies fo’ miwkies, o’ babbehs get wostest tummeh huwties an’ go foweva sweepies!”
He raises an eyebrow, uncertain of what to make of this situation outside of the fact that he is horribly uncomfortable. “N-No, I think I’m just gonna take this one-”
“NU!! DAT AM MUNSTAH BABBEH! PWEASE GIB MUMMAH HOMESIES! BUT NU GIB TO MUNSTAH BABBEH! WET MUMMAH GIB BAD BABBEH FOWEVA SWEEPIES!!!” She stomps her hooves aggressively, crawling out of her box for a few steps on unsteady legs. Her cheeks puff out in rage as she continues to screech about how the foal in his hands is a nasty, dummy, monster baby and needs to be killed. How it doesn’t deserve to have a nice home, or toys, or sketti milkies.
Jitters can only stare in abject horror at the sight before him. His anxiety rising triple fold as his mind races to think of what to do. He thought fluffies were supposed to be docile! Something lovable and safe, built for children! Sure he’d seen fluffies get violent with each other, and he’d heard of smarty syndrome and fluffy mothers pooping on or bullying the ‘poopy’ colors but he’d never seen aggression like this!
“Mummah HATECHU ugwy munstah babbeh! HATECHU! Dummeh hoomin gib Wady Beww munstah babbeh! Nee’ gib wostest huwties an’ foweva sweepies! GIB! GIB NAO! NAO NAO NAO!!!” She huffs and puffs, flapping her wings and stomping her hoof. “MUMMAH WAN KIWW MUNSTAH BABBEH! WAN KIWW! WAN KIWW! WAN KIWW!!!”
