Cause for Alarm (by anon17213083)


I jolt awake from my slumber and groan. Instinctually I hit the snooze button on my alarm clock and go back to sleep.


And just like that, my five minutes are up. I turn my alarm off and shuffle out of bed, defeated. Internally I curse myself for my repeated habit of staying up late, and stretch my limbs to work out the aches and get my body moving. I waste no time in getting into my usual morning routine, once again cursing myself, this time for having hit the snooze button instead of getting my lazy ass out of bed. After I’ve gotten ready and I’m heading towards the door, I pause.

I didn’t check up on Primrose this morning. Not that it matters - my errands will be done with plenty of time left to spare for the requisite socialization the average fluffy demands. But as I leave the house and get into my car, it does give me cause to think.

What am I going to do with it? Thus far I’ve gone through a small handful of fluffies, not out of pure malice, but rather to inject some excitement in an otherwise dull and ordinary lifespan. I like to make each one unique, so there’s no rush to the process. Sometimes I keep them for months before the right idea comes to me. Today, as I go buy a coffee to shake off the daily morning malaise, the right idea comes. It’s so simple, it’s a wonder I hadn’t thought of it sooner, and as I go to the supermarket to buy exactly what I’ll need, I can’t help but smile. This is going to be a good one.

When I get home I put all my groceries away, except the one for Primrose, which I “modify” a bit with some arts and crafts. I enter the saferoom with the “gift” held behind my back, and the excitable, purple pegasus mare with a golden mane jerks her head up from her current activity of drawing to look at me.

“Daddeh!” she squeals with joy. “Wook wha’ Pwimwose dwaw fow 'ou!” she says, picking up the drawing in her jaw to show off to me. A top down array of brown, red, yellow, green, black, and brown again is clumped in the center of the paper.

“And what is this supposed to be, Primrose?” I ask, deciding on humoring her.

“Is nummies, daddeh! 'Ou favwite!” she tells me, eager for approval.

“Oh, I see. It’s a hamburger,” I reply, returning the paper without enthusiasm. “I have a present for you too, Primrose! Would you like to see it?”

“Yus Daddeh! Pwease pwease pwease!” she spouts expectantly, even getting up on her hind legs in her excitement.

“Here it is!” I say, showing the gift in all its glory. “Meet your new friend, Primrose!”

It’s a wireless, digital alarm clock, naturally. But I glued a piece of paper over the screen and drew a smiley face with its tongue sticking out on it. I also glued a couple of pom-poms on each end to make it a little more decorative.

“Yay! Daddeh bwing fwiend! Wuv Daddeh su much!” she babbles, hugging my leg. “Wha’ fwiend’s namsies?”

“He’s called Alarm Buddy,” I reply, excited as she is, but for different reasons, “And he’s going to be living with us from now on. Why don’t you be nice and show him around?”

“Yus Daddeh!” she said. I put “Alarm Buddy” down and watched her dart to her toys with vigor in her steps. She paused, however, when she noticed the clock had not followed, prompting her to ask “Daddeh, wai 'Wawm Buddy no hab weggies?”

“Oh! Uhhh…” I did not expect that, and quickly blurt out a lie on the spot. “That’s just the way he was born?”

“Otay!” she replied, promptly pushing the clock around with her to show it all the nifty things I’ve staffed her saferoom with. Thank God fluffies will believe anything.

When she’s finally finished, playtime comes naturally after. We play fetch, Paddy-Cake, “upsies time”, I even convince her to sing and dance for the clock. With nothing else to distract me, playtime drags on all day. The result of all this is that Primrose’s natural energy and jubilance is steadily worn down, leaving her tuckered out and ready for bed.

“C’mon Primrose, don’t you want to go for another round of upsies?” I say, trying to egg her on.

yawn Is sweepy-time Daddeh. Pwimwose can hab upsies next bwight-time.” she says, even rubbing her eyes. Time for plan b.

“Alright, alright. But won’t you stay up to watch TV with me?” I say, adding “I bet Alarm Buddy would like to watch TV.”

She looks at both me and the unmoving, unflinching “face” of the clock, sighs, and says “Otay Daddeh. Wiww watch Teebee. Bu’ Pwimwose nu can watch fow too wong, am too tiwed.”

That seals the deal. FluffTV’s main channel usually doesn’t run anything this late, so I switch to some more conventional cartoons. Primrose has a hard time following it, asking questions once in a while, but regardless it has the intended effect; I’ve heard that watching TV right before or while trying to get to sleep can inhibit a person’s ability to actually get good rest, and it would seem the same is true of a fluffy pony. All the same, no-one can resist sleep for long, so I try to elongate the process further when I see her starting to doze off.

“Hey,” I say, giving her a couple taps on the back, “Pay attention, this is the best part.” The only thing playing right now is a commercial, but I figure she can’t tell.

“Huu, am sowwy Daddeh. Pwimwose am weawwy tiwed nao…” she mumbles, then says under her breath, “Wan go sweepies soon.”

I manage to keep her up for another hour. Afterwards, it becomes my turn to sleep, but before I do so I make a quick, small, but critical alteration to “Alarm Buddy”, erasing its current smiley face and replacing it with a teary frowning face, for the morning. I turn off the TV, then the lights, close the saferoom door gently, and proceed to my bed.

“Hope you enjoyed your last good day on Earth.” I mutter before sleeping.

Despite the fact that I can sleep in today, I wake up groggy and tired once again. Lamentably, it can’t be helped. I yawn, I stretch, but the reminder of my little trick yesterday is what truly gets me awake and active on this fine morning. While I doubt getting woken up at 5AM after a long night of activities would be fun for anyone, let alone a fluffy pony, the resultant suffering its surely causing Primrose brightens my day just to think about.

Before I open the saferoom door, I can hear some of the calamity from behind it, the loud obnoxious beeping of the alarm clock, and the pitiful sobbing and huffing of Primrose. I open the door slowly, so she doesn’t hear me, and spy her quaking in the corner while covering her ears with her hooves.

“Huuuuuu! Pwease stawp make woud nose 'Wawm Buddy! Pwimwose heaw-pwaces hab huwties!” she says, voice barely audible above the beeping.

“What’s going on here? What’s happening?” I shout over the noise.

“Daddeh!” exclaims Primrose, running from the corner to hug my foot and look up at me with tear stained fluff, “Someting wong wif 'Wawm Buddy! Nu stawp make woud noisies! Tu scawy!”

“Oh my God!” I say, in faux outrage, “Alarm Buddy! What happened? Are you hurt?” I shake Primrose off me and walk over to the alarm clock as if it really needed my help, keeping my laughter contained for the moment. I pet the clock, subtly pressing the snooze button to get the beeping to stop, even throw in a few "there there"s for show. Then I redirect my attention to Primrose, who’s sniffling, staring with a concerned gaze.

“What did you do, Primrose?” I say, with an edge to my voice. She winces under my glare.

“Huuu, nu do nuffin Daddeh! 'Wawm Buddy maek woud noisies fow wong time, and wake Pwimwose fwom sweepy-time!” she pleads.

“Then why is he crying? Why was he screaming?” I pause, waiting for her to come up with an answer. Her mind surely foggy from fear and exhaustion, it takes her a moment before she composes an answer.

“Huu…Pwimwose nu kno, Daddeh. Bu’ nu am Pwimwose fauwt! Pwimwose wuv 'Wawm Buddy!” she tells me, shedding fresh tears from her eyes.

“You’d better come up with a real answer by the time I get back, or you’ll be in big trouble!” I say, storming out.

“Nu! Daddeh, pwease-” she calls out after me as I close the door upon exiting. I grab a wooden spoon from the kitchen, fill up her food bowl, but wait before re-entering the saferoom, putting my ear up against the door for several minutes, until…


“NU! Huu huu huu, nu unastan’! Wai 'Wawm Buddy? Pwease nu hab saddies! Daddeh gon be angwy wif Pwimwose!” she belts out, though I have to strain to hear. On cue, I walk in. Primrose is clutching her ears and shivering again, though this time not hiding scared in the corner.

“Oh my God, what did you do to him?” I shout in another display of faux anger. I drop the food bowl and let it clatter on the ground, sending its contents everywhere, while I once again pretend to coddle the alarm clock, and hit the snooze button. My gaze falls back on Primrose, who’s sniffling and whimpering.

“Well?” I ask, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” She averts her gaze, staring at the floor. She sniffles loudly, then stares back up at me.

“Daddeh…Pwimwose nu huwt 'Wawm Buddy! 'Wawm Buddy maek scawy noisies when hab sweepy-times, nu kno wai.” I shake my head.

“Unbelievable. I can’t fathom how you could lie to me like this Primrose,” I say, fishing the wooden spoon from my back pocket, “but now I’m going to have to give you the sorry stick for being such a bad fluffy.”

“NUUUUU! NU AM WYIN’ NU AM BAD FWUFFY-” she shrieks, but I don’t let her continue.

“Shut up!” I shout, causing her to wince once more. I approach her, the whimpering becoming more like suppressed sobs, and hold her down with one hand, spoon upraised in the other.

“I’m really disappointed in you, Primrose.” I say. The spoon collides with her rear end with a sharp crack, sending her screeching in pain. I’ve never had to physically discipline her before, making this a new, painful experience for her. She yells with each blow, and openly weeps, crying of “huwties” in-between. When I’m finished and remove my hand, she curls up into a ball and whimpers some more, muttering “Daddeh gib too many owies”.

“I certainly hope you learned your lesson,” I say, getting up to leave, “because if I come back here and that thi-I mean, Alarm Buddy is screaming and crying again, I’ll have to punish you again.” And thus, I take my leave.

I go to my monitor to watch the footage from the security camera I installed long ago. I watch the current feed to see Primrose hasn’t moved at all from the spot of her spanking. It’s not long until the snooze time runs out and the alarm clock goes back to beeping madly. This sends Primrose into a fresh crying fit, double breathing and all. She looks ready to compose herself at one point before plunging back into sorrow.

God, what a crybaby.

When she finally does gain enough control over herself to tamper down most of her tears, she waddles over to the beeping alarm clock and begins to speak to it.

sniff…pwease nu hab saddies 'Wawm Buddy…Daddeh huwt Pwimwose if 'ou hab saddies…” she embraces the clock, but fails to trigger the snooze button, thus continuing the beeping.

“Pwimwose gif huggies tu maek it aww betta,” she says, caressing the clock as if it was a newborn foal. The more this continues, however, the more frustrated she gets at her failure. “Huuu…wai Daddeh tink Pwimwose gif huwties to 'Wawm Buddy? Pwimwose twy hewp ‘Wawm Buddy! Am weawwy, weawwy twyin’! Huu huu huu! Wai ‘Wawm Buddy nu stawp cwyin’?” Her caresses become more frantic in a desperate attempt to shut the clock up.

“Huuuu, pwease pwease pwease! Pwease nu hab saddies!” she exclaims, the panic within her rising. “Wai huggies nu wowk?! Pwimwose gif bad huggies? Wai 'Wawm Buddy nu wan Pwimwose huggies?” She sets the clock down, her head darting around the room as if the answer to her troubles is somewhere in sight. Her eyes lock on to the upturned food bowl, and not a moment passes before she charges to the kibble pellets strewn across the room. Gathering up as much stray kibble as she can, she deposits the food in front of the clock.

“‘Wawm Buddy hungwy? Nee’ nummies?” she asks, though she doesn’t wait for an answer, pushing the kibble against the drawn on mouth of the alarm clock, succeeding only in shuffling the clock around. “Pwease eat nummies, 'Wawm Buddy! Pwimwose nu wan 'ou get tummie owies!” She pauses, likely deciding on another scatter-brained idea, and I’m proven right when she lunges for her toys. She grabs every single one, dropping it in front of the clock in a desperate attempt to placate the machine.

“Wan pway? Wan mistah Bun-Bun?” she says, motioning to her stuffed rabbit, “Wan mistah Snakie?”, motioning to the rubber snake, “Wha’ 'bout bwokies? Baww? Squeaky-ting?” But the clock doesn’t budge, continuing its deluge of beeps. I’m eager to see what she’ll come up with next, and I’m not disappointed when she suddenly drags the clock over to the TV.

“Wan watch Teebee? Dat wha’ Pwimwose du when Daddeh am gone.” She presses the button on the monitor, and some inane bullshit on FluffTV comes up on the screen.

“Dis am gud show! Is singie-dancie time!” She hops to her feet, trying her best to sing and dance to the fluffies on the screen, but the cumulative effects of losing so many hours of sleep, physical exhaustion from playing so much yesterday, and crying herself horse today has taken its toll. As such, her dancing consists of drunken shambling, the flaps of her wings erratic, and her singing terribly off-key and scratchy. Either because she recognizes her deficiencies or simply because this has yet again failed to placate the clock, her singing and dancing tapers down, and even from here I can see fresh tears start to form in her eyes.

“WAI NUFFING WOWK? WAI 'WAWM BUDDY STIWW HAB SADDIES?! WAI PWIMWOSE NU CAN MAEK SADDIES GU WAY?” she belts out, clutching her ears once more as the beeping continues unabated. I can’t help but laugh.

Hours pass before I go into the saferoom to inspect, first-hand, the state Primrose is in. The strewn about kibble hasn’t been touched, and neither have the toys she grabbed in her mad panic. The clock also hasn’t moved at all, though the TV it’s resting in front of has thankfully been shut off. Primrose herself is lying motionless on her side. At first I think she’s sleeping, and I believe that might’ve been her intention, but she picks her head up to stare at me after a moment or two.

Her eyes are totally red, and I notice she’s trembling as she stares.

“Am sowwy Daddeh…” she mumbles, bottom lip quivering. “Am SU SOWWY DADDEH! Pwimwose twy, twy weaw hawd bu’ nu can maek 'Wawm Buddy hab happies! Pwease nu be angwy wif Pwimwose! PWEASE!” I have no idea how she has any tears left to shed, but she does.

“Why, you terrible little beast!” I bellow, summoning up my best face of disgust and contempt I can muster. “How can you do this to me? How can you do this to him?” I shout, gesturing to the clock. I crouch over the clock and repeat the same pattern as before, subtly pressing the snooze on the clock while shushing it gently. Primrose makes her way over, patting her hoof on my leg to get my attention. I pretend not to notice while she talks.

“Pwimwose wiww twy hawdew Daddeh! Pwomise! Jus’ pwease nu gib aPwimwose huwties dis time!” she begs, her breathing quickening the more I don’t acknowledge her.

With sudden swiftness and ferocity, I backhand her right across the face, sending her sprawling on the ground, too surprised to even make a sound. When the realization begins to dawn on her, she groans as the stinging sensation on the side of her face becomes more acute.

“I warned you Primrose! Did I not?” I growl, pulling the pliers out of my back pocket. In one fell swoop I gether by the left ear, and yank her roughly into the air.

“EEEE! EEEEE! HEAW PWACE HUWT!” she gasps in-between tremendous breaths, throwing her body every which way trying to get loose, wings flapping intensely, front hooves trying to push herself off from my hand. When I pull out the pin, her eyes widen, focusing on it intently with manic fear, her struggling temporarily forgotten.

“Wha’ Daddeh gon do wif pointy?” she asks, voicing her thoughts aloud, her gaze never leaving the pin. I answer with my actions, and start jabbing away at her soft, delicate body.

“SCREEEEEEEEEEEE! SCREEEEEEEEEE!” she cries out, closing her eyes mighty hard, tongue popping out during each scream. Her wings are surely getting a real workout from the frantic attempts to take flight, and her legs flail aimlessly in the air. With every thrust of the pin, a small trickle of dark red crimson comes out, matting her ruffled purple fluff and creating an uneven drip down her body.

Without warning, her ear tears, leaving me clutching a piece of it in between the pliers and sending Primrose to the floor, straight on her ass with a yelp. She tries to contort herself to soothe her bruised behind, smearing the floor and herself with her own blood.

“Jesus Christ,” I sneer, this time without needing a facade, “you’re getting yourself dirty. C’mon, let’s give you a bath.”

“Daddeh…nu huwt Pwimwose nao?” she asks, sniffling at me with a wary glance.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, figuring there’s no harm in caving this time, “you win this round. No more hurting. Let’s just get you cleaned up.” Before she can be reassured though, I make sure to add “I’m still not happy with you Primrose. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.” With that I carry her bleeding body to the bathroom with both hands, trying unsuccessfully to keep her from bleeding on the floor. I let out a frustrated sigh; I’m just going to have to clean it up later. I toss her in the tub and turn the water on without waiting for it to warm up, receiving expected protests.

“D-d-daddeh, wawa am t-t-tu cowdies…”

“You’re lucky to be getting a bath at all with how badly you’ve been misbehaving.” I snarl. Even as the water warms up, she mewls and sniffles the entire time. I lather her up with soap, and despite the sharp inhales indicating stinging pain, she bites her bottom lip to keep from complaining. Clean-up is a drag, quiet and time consuming. I half-ass the saferoom in no small part due to the fact that I don’t want to keep hitting the clock’s snooze button every nine minutes while busy, but I make sure to time myself in order to allow enough of a window to dry Primrose off, stick some band-aids on her (along with a tiny bandage for the torn ear), and return her to her natural habitat.

“Now Primrose,” I begin, “I’ve been very generous with you all this time. If I find Alarm Buddy screaming and crying just ONE MORE TIME, it’s going to be very, very bad for you. Understood?”

“Mmhm! Mmhm!” she moans, emphatically nodding at my words. She looks like she’s holding back vomit as she does so.

“Good. Now I’ll leave you be until tomorrow. Goodnight, Primrose.” She does not return the parting words, staying silent.

Time to watch the camera and wait for the inevitable. When the clock does strike up its tune again, Primrose only lays plopped on the floor, stoic, as if admitting defeat. But then she pushes herself forward, defiant of impending pain and terror, and sits there, face to face with her nemesis. She speaks, no, sings, although it feels as if it is not specifically directed towards the clock, or herself, or anyone else. Rather, it seems like a conjuring of a memory past, of a time long forgotten until now.

“Gu sweepies widdwe babbeh…Mummah hewe fow widdwe babbeh…” The morose melody comes out hoarse and cracked from the pained throat of the fluffy singing it. She either does not notice or care. “Gu hab sweepies, maek gud sweepies, dewe nu munstahs hewe. Mummah taek cowdies, mummah taek huwties, mummah taek saddies, aww fow widdwe babbeh. Gu hab sweepies, maek gud sweepies, mummah stay wight hewe. Gu hab sweepies, maek gud sweepies, bwight-time comin’ hewe.”

She leans against the clock, resting her head and front hooves on its top, humming the tune from her departed youth, when without warning, the beeping stops with a click. She pulls back in shock, confused, in disbelief that her last ditch efforts had won out. That’s when she figure out the source of the click; she had hit the snooze. Her expression changes from one of mystification to ecstatic joy, and she giggles like a fluffy possessed before getting up on her hind legs to chant and dance from pure satisfaction.

“Pwimwose did it Daddeh! Pwimwose taek 'Wawm Buddy’s saddies 'way!” she shouts into the air.

“Goddamn,” I say, a not insignificant amount of wonder in my voice, “she finally did it. Only took a whole fucking day, but better late than never.”

She prances around the saferoom, hugs her toy animals, then picks the alarm clock up and hugs the piss out of it. In her trance, she lifts the clock above her head-


-only for her allotted nine minutes to run out, causing her to drop the clock on her own face in surprise. Nursing her hurt nose for a little bit, she trots to the clock and hits the snooze button again, trying to shush it like I’ve done twice now. After that, she’s far from celebratory, warily eying the clock until it croaks to life again. It dawns on her then, that this is not going to lead to her salvation, instead functioning as a long, grinding uphill battle that’s going to last all night, and it’s then that her lullaby singing becomes punctuated with the gentle pitter patter of "huu huu"s.

After another night’s rest for me, and turning off my own alarm clock, I stretch my limbs and prepare for work. I always have about three hours from the time I get up until the time I have to head in, and it hardly takes me any time at all to get ready, so even taking my time and vegging on the couch for a little bit leaves me with about two hours to deal with any pet fluffy I have at the moment.

Opening the saferoom door, I can see Primrose dragged her clock over to her bed, the whole front half of her body draped over the top, drool dribbling down her cheek. Her eyes are closed, and she doesn’t stir when I enter. At least the dispersed kibble is all gone, no doubt eaten at some point during the night. Just then, the alarm clock roars back to life, and Primrose cracks her eyes open at the sound. Still not noticing me, she fumbles around with one of her front hooves, she hits the snooze and tries to settle back into a pattern of rest, shuffling herself around in discomfort. She must’ve been doing this routine the whole night, making it doubtful she got much, if any, real sleep.

“Hey,” I say, raising my fingers and snapping them a few times, “Rise and shine kid.”

“Wha’?” she says, disappointment obvious in her voice and tone. She rises, blinking a few times, squinting at me, then rubs at her eyes with her hooves for a little bit. “It nu bwight-time Daddeh. It Pwimwose sweepy-time.”

“That’s not right,” I say, peppering my speech to sound slightly playful, “the sun is shining! Wouldn’t make any sense to sleep in the middle of the day, now would it?” I point to the two windows in the saferoom to emphasize my point; sunlight is brightly lighting up the room.

Not having the mental fortitude to argue with my logic, she sulks, offering only a feeble “Otay Daddeh” in response. Spotting some of her band-aids beginning to peel off, and eager to get her out of the room before the alarm clock spouts off again, I decide to change the subject.

“Anyway, let’s get those bandages off you.” I take her back to the bathroom, placing her in the sink, not so delicately peeling the bad-aids off, each tug causing her to moan “owies” under her breath. When I start taking the ear bandage off, she suddenly perks up and smiles.

“Daddeh, Pwimwose 'memba, kno how maek 'Wawm Buddy nu hub saddies nu mowe!” she says, showing off the remains of her joy from the previous night.

“Well that’s wonderful.” I say disinterestedly. She presses the issue, however.

“Daddeh happies wif Pwimwose nao? Can hab huggies an pway 'gain?” rays of hope shining through the clouds.

“Maybe later, I have to go to work today.” I tersely reply. Then she gives me a quizzical kind of look, like I’ve just grown a second head.

“Bu’ Daddeh, 'ou wowk wast bwight-time!” she tells me, like it’s as obvious as blue skies and green grass. Now she’s made me confused, and I just return her puzzled stare for one of my own.

“Just…stay right here for a little bit.” I awkwardly stammer, leaving for the saferoom. I take the clock, then find a little piece of hard plastic that came off of who-knows-what God-knows-when that’s been sitting around the house for a while, and carefully glue it on over the clock’s snooze button. There’s a tiny space between the glued plastic and the clock’s various buttons, so that if I ever need to hit the snooze again, or even turn it off outright, I can stick something small enough to fit and wriggle it around until I get it. Primrose won’t be able to get to it at all, however. That done, I return the clock to its former position and go to retrieve Primrose. I find her fast asleep on the sink counter.

“Hey c’mon, it’s not nap-time now.” I say, snapping my fingers at her again. When she re-awakens, she whips her head around the room, as if trying to spot some invisible foe.

“Wai Pwimwose hab sweepies in baf-time woom?” she worriedly asks.

“Oh nevermind that,” I say, eager to toss her back into the fray, “let’s just get you back where you belong, okay?” She simply grins stupidly and nods at my suggestion. I can actually feel her dozing off in my arms as I carry her back. When I set her groggy ass down, she takes a few shaky steps forward, eyelids drooping downwards. Then she spots her rubber snake toy and all hell breaks loose.

“AAIEEEEE! DADDEH! DEWE A HISSY-MUNSTAH IN PWIMWOSE WOOM! NU WIKE, NU WIKE!” she shrieks horrifically. Now I’m the one clutching my ears, not having expected such a freak out.

“Primrose stop it!” I command, “That’s your toy snake friend, don’t you remember? Mr. Snake?” But she doesn’t listen.

“Huu huu huu! Pwimwose nu maek fwiends wif hissy-munstahs! Tu scawy!” she insists.

“Okay, alright,” I say, biting the bullet, “I’ll take the fucking snake out.” I pick it up by the tail, making a show of its removal so that she knows it’s gone for good. She shudders staring at the rubber body. Before I’m quite out of the woods though, she makes one more demand.

“Daddeh…? Can Pwimwose hab nummies nao? Tummie hab bad huwties…” she coos.

“Fine, I’ll get some…if it’ll shut you up.” I say, the last part under my breath. I do make good on the promise however, and she chows down as soon as I set down the bowl.

“Well, I’m gonna go now Primrose,” I inform her. She doesn’t look up or give any other indication that she’s listening. “So…I’m just gonna leave you here…all by yourself…” Still nothing. I give a bored huff and walk out thereafter. The show is about to begin anyway.

I check my watch. With some time left yet, I observe through the camera to see how she reacts to the latest development. When the clock lets its presence be known, Primrose lets out a little whimper, shambling to the noisey thing and tries to hit the snooze. Thanks to my little modification, she gets real wound up in a jiffy.

“Huh? Wha’ happen? Wai? Wai? WAI? WAI NU WOWK NU MOWE?! WHA’ PWIMWOSE DU WONG? NU UNNASTAN’!” She starts tapping the site of the former snooze button with increasing agitation, whispering “Pwease nu hab saddies, pwease nu hab saddies! Pwease nu cwy!” But after a while, she yields her struggle, dropping her head on top of the clock and wailing, defeated. I watch for a little longer, but not much else happens, and before I know it I have to head into the office.

Of course, once I’m at the office, I find my mind wandering back to my current fluffy. I can’t help but think about how her mental degradation is proceeding. It appears to be going quicker than a human being would, at this stage. Is that because fluffies require more sleep than an adult human? Or is the accumulated stress from the physical and mental trauma accelerating, perhaps is even the primary vehicle, for the madness? I lack the time to ponder such things for long though. Someone called in today and I have to pick up the slack. Inevitably I end up staying at the office for far longer than I like, leaving me frustrated, hungry, and eager to escape from it all in the form of my escapades.

Despite my eagerness to continue I make sure not to rush things. I take a bit of time just for myself to relax, to eat, and of course prepare. Upon entering the saferoom I’m met with a most bewildering sight: every single piece of paper I provided Primrose to draw on is filled with unholy scribbles and other assorted junk. I pick one up to inspect it further; it’s just a bunch of squiggly lines drawn all over the place. It’s all in dull grey too, no other color at all has been inserted into the picture. It’s actually quite creepy.

Putting the disturbing drawing down, I find Primrose silently sitting up in front of a wall, her head resting right on it. I don’t think she’s moved since I entered.

“Hey,” I call out to her, “Hey Primrose, c’mere, Daddy’s home.” She lifts her head from the wall, slowly turning to face me. She has a dim look in her reddened eyes, looking me over up and down as if to make sure its really me, then dashes over to my feet.

“Daddeh!” she cries out expectantly, “Daddeh, hab su many happies 'ou hewe! Pwimwose wait wong time fow 'ou!” I stay silent as she continues to pour her heart out. “Am sowwy Daddeh, bu’ nu couwd maek ‘Wawm Buddy hab happies ‘gain! Pwimwose kno wha’ tu do fow widdwe bit, bu’ den dat nu wowk nu mowe!” She sniffles a tad, rubbing her nose with a hoof before looking right up at me to ask her next question. “Daddeh angwy wif Pwimwose?”

I sigh, putting on a glum expression. “I’m not angry, Primrose.” I go to her, kneel down, and pet her. She hugs my knee in response, leaving her unable to see what I’m pulling out of my back pocket with the other hand - a box of matches. With hands shaking in anticipation, I get the matchbox open, take one out, lighting it on the first strike.

“I’m just upset.” I press the lit match into her back, instantly causing her to scream. She pushes herself off me and ends up flailing on her side, narrowly missing crushing her own wings. Quickly I take another match and light it, and just as she rights herself and is about to bolt, I grab her so roughly by the fluff that I can feel my nails dig into her skin. I apply the match as she uselessly beats her legs against the floor and ceaselessly flaps her wings, trying to get away.

“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE! BUWNIES! BUWNIES! NU WIKE BUWNIES!” she screams. I let her go, since trying to light a match one handed would be far too awkward to attempt, and she takes off like a racehorse, no pun intended. She backs herself into a corner, facing me, fear beyond belief in her eyes. My facade of mere discipline momentarily breaks and the inner sadist is temporarily revealed as I can’t help but give a toothy grin while lighting the next match. It is a change that Primrose notices and struggles to make sense of.

“'Ou nu am Pwimwose Daddeh! 'Ou am munstah!” she shouts. I approach with the match in hand, and she tries to dash to the side to escape. I’m too quick though, and stomp on her tail, holding her in place as she struggles to get away once more. The prospect that she’s hurting herself struggling, the frantic flapping of her wings as if she’s seriously trying to take flight, and her sanity reaching its lowest point, only eggs me on further, allowing myself to drop the mask, and I giggle as I crouch down and apply the second match.


“It doesn’t matter what you want you stupid bitch!” I spout off quickly, lighting the third match. Then the fourth, fifth, sixth, and more, burning her back, her hindquarters, even the top of her head. All the while she’s screaming.

“DADDEH! SABE PWIMWOSE! SCREEEEEEEEEEE! SABE PWIMWOSE FWOM BUWNIES! SCREEEEEEEEEEEE! NEE HUGGIES! HUWTIES AM TU MUCH! SCREEEEEEEEEE!” On and on. When I apply a match to her anus though, is when she goes truly ballistic. She begins a massive scream, but stops halfway through and launches herself forward with all the strength that she can muster, tearing many of the hairs on her tail - if not removing many outright - to successfully free herself from my foot. She dives into the corner yet again and curls up into a fetal position.

“N-nu mowe h-huwties, nu huwt poopie-pwace…” she stammers, trembling terribly. “Nu mowe buwnies, hab huwties aww oba, gu way, gu way, gu way munstah! Wan Daddeh back!” I simply snicker as I turn to leave the room. But not before one last thing.

“Sure, I’ll leave,” I say, “and I guess I’ll take my present with me.”

“Wha’?” she asks, “wha’ pwesent? Wha’ munstah tawk ‘bout?” I smiles she tilts her head up from her hunched over figure. She’s taken the bait.

“This one.” I take a little bottle of battery acid from my back pocket, then turn back around to face her, opening it up and tossing the bottle’s contents on her.

“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Is all she can say, writhing in the corner, rubbing her body against the walls and ground, scratching herself with her hooves, only succeeding in spreading the harmful chemical all over herself.

“Sayonara, Primrose!” I say, taking my leave.

When I go to watch the security cam, the immediate aftermath of my brutal assault has changed little. Primrose continues to scream for a few minutes, then finally settles down, meekly hyperventilating in the corner for a few additional minutes. Eventually she makes several very careful steps forward, then bolts straight to the closed door and bangs on it heavily, shouting “DADDEH! DADDEH! PWIMWOSE NEE HUGGIES! PWIMWOSE HAB WOWSTEST BUWNIE HUWTIES! MUNSTAH GIB HUWTIES TO PWIMWOSE! PWEASE DADDEH!” She does this for several minutes straight, uselessly screaming herself hoarse and creating violent gashes on her hooves from the pounding. Once this ceases a crying fit ensues.

“W-wai Daddeh nu hewp Pwimwose? Nu can heaw?”

It isn’t until she looks back at the endlessly beeping alarm clock that I even remember it was there. I fear my relentless attack might’ve displaced the clock’s prominance in her torture, but I’m proven wrong when she opens her mouth next.

“Daddeh…stiww angwy? Daddeh angwy 'cause 'Wawm Buddy stiww hab saddies?” she ponders aloud. “Daddeh…Pwimwose nu can maek 'Wawm Buddy betta! Pwease, pwease fowgib Pwimwose Daddeh!” she says, acting as if I can hear her (and in a way, I really can). She crawls her way towards the alarm clock, wincing in pain from both the violence inflicted and sheer physical exhaustion of her limbs. She plops down in front of the clock, feebly clutching it with her front hooves.

“Nu kno wha’ tu do nu mowe…” she feebly moans, burying her face against the clock’s drawn face.

More hours pass, and before I know it, it’s the dead of night. Instead of sleeping, like I should, I look through the security cam again, angling to see how Primrose is dealing with her little guest. She’s lying on her bed, blanket covering her, but her eyes are noticeably open. She tosses and turns for a little bit, wincing every once in a while. She covers her head with the blanket, but that doesn’t last long and she throws the covers off soon after. She just sits there, staring at the wall, until suddenly getting up and pushing the alarm clock to the corner furthest away from her. Then after a few more minutes she pushes her bed into the corner opposite the clock. It’s very fortunate neither corner is under the camera’s blind spot.

After another moment, Primrose covers her ears with her hooves. She lowers her hooves after a while, very slowly and ominously. She marches over to the clock with pained, jerky motions, to angrily face it. It is the first time I have seem real hatred on her features.

“Be quiet ‘Wawm Buddy! Pwimwose twyin’ hab sweepies!” she demands. When the clock doesn’t react, she only gets angrier. “Pwimwose said stawp maek noisies! Pwimwose hab tu many huwties, an’ tu tiwed fow wakies!” But still the clock doesn’t budge, only driving her further up the walls of rage. “'Wawm Buddy gon Stawp WIGHT NAO ow Pwimwose gon gib huwties!” she says, in another unprecedented move for this otherwise well-behaved fluffy. Finally, the cumulative effects of sleep deprivation, mental scarring, and physical trauma have opened the floodgates.

Primrose hefts the clock up with her forehooves, and stands up on her back legs to hoist the clock up into the air and then slam it straight into the ground. She batters the poor thing with the very last strength she has, failing to do any damage. She bites the pom-pom on the side of its “face”, tearing chunks off it.

“HATECHU DUMMEH 'WAWM BUDDY! HATECHU, HATECHU, HATECHU!” she exclaims. She bites it everywhere, batters it some more, succeeds in tearing off the other pom-pom and disfiguring the paper face, but comes no closer to stopping the sounds of beeping.

“PWIMWOSE HATECHU FOW NU STAWP NOISIES! JUS’ SHADDAP!” She keeps at it, beating it all over, tossing it on the ground a few more times, carrying this on for several more minutes until the assault degenerates into pitiful shoving and a desperate attempt at smothering. After a while, this too ceases, the having drained from her body long ago. She can only give a look of utter dismay, powerless to do anything except stare at the object of her torment. She opens her mouth as if to scream, but no sound comes out, so instead she pounds her hooves against her own face. She abruptly stops only to run headfirst against the wall closest to her, where she begins slamming her head there over and over again, leaving an ugly smear of crimson blood on the wall where she keeps beating herself, until finally she collapses, motionless.

I take that as my cue. I enter the saferoom with a flathead screwdriver in hand, and upon sticking it into the tiny gap I’ve allowed between the clock and glued plastic, switch the intrepid clock, the Alarm Buddy, off. I pick Primrose up by the scruff of her neck to take a closer look, and notice that she beat herself on the wall so hard that the skin has parted and the ivory colored skull can be seen underneath, dented. She does not stir as I do this, and her eyes are glazed over and unmoving. I take the corpse and the clock, and walk them to the trash can outside my house.

I’m almost to my door when I hear the clock start to beep. “Aw shit,” I say, realizing “I must’ve hit the snooze instead of turning it off.” Simple mistake really, I could easily go back and turn it off manually, but why bother? That thing has to run out of batteries sometime.

I return to my home and ignore the muffled crying coming from the trash can.


This is a repost from the booru, I’ll add more of these throughout the month and add some new stories when I’m able.


This one was awesome!!! Thanks for digging it up Bran!


brutal. i love it so much. i need more pleaaase

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oh god yes

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So twisted; I love it!