Your name is Travis. You have a micro-fluffy named Ace.
Work sucked, but what else is new? Always nice to have someone throw coffee on you because you’re out of organic kale. Peak Karen BS, right there.
At least you had a spare shirt in your locker.
Your mood isn’t great when you arrive home, but then you remember your little ‘friend’ in the cupboard, and you smile wickedly. Lets see how he enjoyed his day in the Pringles can. You open the cabinet and take out the can, muted exclamations emanating as you set it on the countertop. Uncorking it, you are greeted with the sweet smell of fluffy shit. Ace’s tiny blue face looks up at you, smeared with snot and tears. He had just barely enough room to wiggle his little foot up, and he has obviously been sucking on it like a baby.
“Huu huu huu! Ace hab worstest saddies. Pwese wet Ace out of meanie-howe!” He sobs, wiggling in the shit-smeared can.
“Are you going to be good now, Ace?” You ask, dumping him gently into the sink.
“Ace am sowwy fo be bad! Ace be gud fow nyu daddeh! Ace be suuuu gud! Pwese daddeh, Ace nuu smew pwetty.”
You turn the tap and rinse the tiny creature, who wobbles unsteadily. His feet definitely went to sleep in the can, and it’s all he can do to stay upright. After drying the tiny fluffy, you set him down in his plastic cage, and return his kibble. You’ve even sprinkled it with some ranch seasoning. You needn’t have bothered: the colt positively inhales the kibble, barely stopping to chew.
“Hey, slow down. You’re going to choke!” you hold him back and he finishes chewing.
“Tank yu fo kibbwe-nummies, daddeh. Hab suu bad tummy huwties!” He finishes his kibble slowly after your admonishment. Well, at least he is repentant. Mollified by his apparently sincere contrition, you pet him gently.
“Daddeh…pwese huggies?” Ace asks reservedly, his tiny hooves uplifted. You lift him up between your fingers and plop him against your sweatshirt.
“Ace…wub daddeh.” He chirps, positively purring from the affection. This is more like it, you think. It is surprisingly gratifying to have laid down the law on such an ungrateful little shit.
—
Ace rides around in your sweatshirt pocket as you reheat dinner. Since he has behaved himself, you dig into your backpack and bring out the gifts you bought him at the dollar store: some ‘blocks’ (novelty dice) to play with, a bright shiny ball (stress ball), and lastly an infant-sized stuffed kitty.
“Yayyy! Tank you daddeh! Ace wub nu toysies!” He hugs your hand softly, and you flick the ball across the desk for him to chase. The patter of his tiny hooves on the desktop is oddly adorable. You continue to play with the little guy until he gets tuckered out. You place him carefully back in his ‘nest’ with his new stuffed kitty.
“Ace wub stuffy fwend suu mushhhh…” The tiny colt drifts off to sleep, clutching his stuffed animal tightly.
Much better, you little shit.
—
Things continue to go well as the days go on. Ace eats his kibble appreciatively each day, sometimes with some steamed vegetables, if you have leftovers. You tried some baby carrots, but the little guy’s mouth was so sore afterwards that you steamed his treats from then on.
After work, you play with him to unwind, stacking blocks or chasing the tiny ball. He falls asleep on you as you game or watch TV, always cuddled up with his stuffed kitty.
All in all, you’ve got this whole ‘fluffy pony’ thing down, you think to yourself.
—
Your name is Travis. You have settled into life with your new little friend Ace. You play, and cuddle, and even go on trips outside with him.
One day, Ace is sitting on a little piece of foam you gave him for a bed, stacking his blocks and watching you work on a plastic model. The tiny colt stops stacking his blocks and sighs.
“What’s wrong buddy?” You tickle his tiny blue chin.
“Daddeh, Ace am wonewy when daddeh go wowk. Ace nu hab noone to pway wif, onwy stuffy fwend. Daddeh pwese can Ace hab fwuffy fwend fow pway an huggies?” You stop what you are doing and look at your tiny companion.
“So, you want another fluffy to play with?”
“Yus. Nyu fwend wu make Ace suuu happy.” The little fluffy beams up at you.
Well, you suppose that’s a reasonable enough request.
—
It’s getting late when you arrive at the store. You ended up staying much later at the grocery store than you had intended: one of your idiot coworkers had shown up drunk for their shift and was fired immediately. Your manager wheeled and pleaded until you covered their shift as well as your own. This did not put you in a good mood, feeling a strong need to punch somebody.
Fluffies ‘R Us is just as deserted and depressing as it was last time. This time, a surly neckbeard in an MLP t-shirt is minding the only open register. You ignore him, and walk back to the Micro Fluffy cages. Besides the alicorns that you saw last time, there is far less selection now that you remember. It’s Sunday evening, and you guess that the weekend is when everybody buys a fluffy if they want one. There are only a dozen or so of the tiny creatures left, among all the cages. One is even all alone, a tiny orange unicorn hugging its tail for comfort. You are perusing the limited candidates when Jess arrives with a couple of cardboard boxes.
“Hey, it’s you. How’s that micro working out?” You are surprised she remembers you.
“…H-hey!” You stutter out, very aware of the low cut shirt she is wearing. You manage to squeeze out the trials and tribulations of making Ace behave.
“Yeah, fluffies can be selfish, bossy little fucks when they want to be. Sounds like he finally learned who’s boss now, though.” She sets down the cardboard boxes. One is full, stuffed with a writhing mass of micro-fluffies. The other is empty.
“He seems kinda lonely now, so I was thinking of getting him a friend.” Jess works as you talk.
“They’re like guinea pigs. It’s not really great for them to be all alone most of the time. They get depressed after a while. So unless you’re planning on making him suffer, a friend is a good idea.”
She leaves the full box of new fluffies for now, taking the empty one in her hands and opening the first cage. Quickly and expertly, she scoops up the micros, sometimes managing to grab two or more at a time in her hands. They get deposited in the empty box.
“Huu huu! Fwuffy hab huwties!” A putrid green micro complains after falling on its butt in the rough cardboard box. He is soon followed by all the other micros currently in the cages. Then, Jess takes the new fluffies and restocks the cages, filling them with about a dozen micro fluffies each. Then, she takes down the bright yellow “discount” sticker from the cages, returning the fluffies to their normal price, which is more than you really feel like paying
“Well I’m not sure I want to drop full price on a companion for Ace. I was hoping to get one of those discounted fluffies, but you took them all.” Jess looks at the box, and then back to you. There is a sly smile on her face.
“Come with me.”
She leads you to the back of the store, down badly-lit rows of fluffy feed, cages, sorry-sticks and sundry accessories for your furry friend, all priced-to-own and made of only the best Chinesium. Jess disappears through a swinging set of double doors marked “Staff Only,” and you follow quickly, glancing backward apprehensively.
“S’ok dude, none of the cameras back here actually work.” Jess takes you through another door, and into a room brightly lit by fluorescent overheads. The back room was full of shelving and stainless counters along each side. The floor was tile, with drainage openings. A large stainless steel table gleamed dully under the fluorescents, taking up much of the center of the room. Containers held tools of all shapes and sizes. The entire place smelled like disinfectant. Jess dropped the cardboard box roughly on the tabletop, which is accompanied by shrill complaints.
“Nuu wan meanie downsies!”
“Fwuffy scawed! Pwese huggies!”
“So,” Jess leans on a counter while you size up the room, “ Did you want any of those micros? Otherwise, management says I put them in the garbage. Apparently gassing them is now considered ‘not cost effective’ and there is no way I am killing 20 of these things by hand.”
You examine the contents of the box. There are about 15-20 fluffies milling around, many of which are hugging each other for support. Poop and pee have smeared most of them, but their colors are still visible. Most of the micros are shades of brown, gray or green, though some are unfortunate tones of yellow that make your eyes hurt. Here and there are more ‘nice’ colors: red, pink, blue, but these are the exception rather than the rule. All of the fluffies with more popular colors are also graced with garish mane and tail colors. One lovely red unicorn has a puke-green mane, funnily enough smeared with actual puke at the moment. Another, a nice orange earth filly, has a deep maroon tail that really clashes with her fluff. A pale gray pegasus would be lovely, except that it has a mane and tail a shade of yellow that should not exist on this planet. You think it over, the tiny creatures babbling incessantly. Ace was a bright, pretty fluffy, and he was an awful spoiled little shit until you laid down the law. Your research on ‘bestest babies’ revealed that formerly feral mares-as well as some domestics- develop a preference for their prettiest babies. Sometimes this is merely the baby with the nicest colors, other times it is one that matches its mothers coloring or that of her mate. Regardless, in ferals this means the other foals will get less attention and food. In domestics, this is rarely the case, but favoritism does still rear its ugly head in the form of entitled foals. A mint-green foal with an orange mane rears up while you ponder this, leaning against the cardboard with its tiny hooves stretched up.
“Mistah, hewp fwuffy! Be nu daddi!” You snort at the demand. The fluff narrows his eyes to glare at you.
“Smawty say gib uppsies! Nu daddi gib fwuffy sketties!” it demands. What an asshole. You flick the tiny shit right on the snout. He falls over, his hooves flailing as his tiny nose bleeds on his pale green fluff. You expect Jess to scold you for hitting him, but she just snorts and goes back to her phone.
“Nuuu huu huu! Meanie mistah gib owwies! Nu wike, nu wike!” he cries, the other fluffies rushing to help. It is then that you spot a fluffy, sitting quietly in the corner of the box, looking rather dejected. He is a pegasus, pale brown in color like cocoa powder. His mane and tail are a bright fuchsia. The combination is actually fairly nice. Your mind made up, you walk over to where Jess is playing with her phone.
“Hey, can I get that brown one with the fuchsia tail? The pegasus in the corner.” Jess glances over at the captive micros.
“Ah yeah, that one. I see him. I’ve got an idea, to make sure he doesn’t end up like your other fluffy. You don’t have a weak stomach, do you?”
She leans over conspiratorially, her arm wrapped around your shoulder. You are suddenly very aware of her breast rubbing against your shoulder, but you use every ounce of willpower and focus on what she says, nodding intently as she continues detailing her plan.
You are a fluffy. You have soft brown fur, tiny wings, and a pretty purple tail that you love very much.
Right now, you are very worried.
You and all your fluffy friends were playing with your toys, hugging and napping peacefully.
Suddenly, a Big Lady loomed over you all. Was this your new mommy? You missed your mother dearly, but you were a big fluffy now, and you had your friends.
“Nice wady bwing nummies?” A green earthie filly rushed up to the front of your place.
Instead of food, the lady reached down and plucked up the filly roughly. It squealed in fright as the Big Lady dropped it out of sight. You scampered as far as you could, to the end of your well-lit home. The lady kept reaching down, grabbing fluffies as they ran and tried to escape. Eventually, the hand grabbed you roughly and you were lifted so high in the air!
You flailed your little legs and flapped your tiny wings in vain, and then your bowels let go in fear, shit smearing your bottom fluff. The shit ground into your soft fluff as you landed in a pile with your cage-mates.
“Nuu huu! Fwuffy nuu smeww pwetty!” You whine softly as the fluffies under you jostle you and complain of the smell.
“Poopie fwuffy go way! Nuu wike smeww!” A blue fluffy under you pushes at you roughly with his hooves, hurting your tummy. The box moved briskly, and you smelled new things.
They didn’t smell pretty at all, and you were scared. Suddenly, you and the others stopped moving. A man looked down at you and the other fluffies from above. He had a little bit of fluff on his face, and you were confused, but hopeful. Was this your new daddy? Before you could ask the man, another fluffy ran forward. The green fluffy was always mean to you, telling you that you looked like poop. It hurt your heart to hear those mean things. When the big man knocked the smarty over, you didn’t run to hug him like the others. It served him right, being mean to you.
Suddenly, the place you were in got dark. You couldn’t hear the humans anymore. Maybe they had gone away? All of a sudden, your world rocked over, and you spilled out of the box onto the other fluffies.
“Nu wike! Weggies hab owwies!” a yellow filly cried from underneath you. You apologized and crawled off of her face, onto the the cold, slick place you had landed upon. Abruptly, a bright light shone from the ceiling, immediately above you. The rest of the room was dark, and you couldn’t see the walls.
“MWAHHHHHH! I’m the Leggy-Monster!” A fearsome figure towered over you, with big bulging eyes and a mouth full of huge teeth. You promptly shit yourself with fear, trying to scrabble away on the slippery floor.
“Nuuuuuu! Munstah gon huwt fwuffy!” You squealed, hiding behind the box. The monster grabbed the green fluffy from before, hoisting it high into the air above the floor.
“GIVE ME YOUR LEGSSSSS!” The monster screamed at the fluffy, and it pissed itself in fear. Taking one leg in each of its enormous hands, the monster pulled sharply, and the fluffies legs ripped off.
“Screeeeeeeeeee!” the fluffies shrill screech was abruptly cut off as it hit the table with a quiet thud, blood spurting from its severed arms. It writhed in pain, its back legs broken from the fall, blood spurting from its mouth as it tried to talk.
“Pwese…fwuffy nee huggehhhssfhghfh” it dribbled incoherently, wiggling its stumps in your direction. But you couldn’t move. Shaking in terror, you stood transfixed as the monster plucked up another fluffy, and brought it screeching down on the table, again and again, its battered corpse making awful squishing noises as its head was ground to a bloody pulp. But then, a light shone in the darkness, and the monster recoiled in fear! Your heart leapt out of your chest as the big man charged forward, brandishing a bright light at the terrible monster.
“Back, back I say! Leave these fluffies alone, Leg-Monster!” The man drove the monster off into the shadows with his blinding light.
“Oh noes, a flashlight! My only weakness!” The monster stuttered as it retreated into the darkness.
“Are you alright, little fluffy?” The big man leaned forward and reached out to pick you up in his big hand. You cringed away from the hand with a start, but the man’s grasp was gentle, and he picked you up carefully, cradling you against the soft fur of his chest.
“Fwuffy am suuu scawed! Munstah awmost get fwuffy! Tank you, nice mistah, fo sabe fwuffy!” You chirped thankfully, the big man’s other hand petting your fur softly.
“You’re such a good fluffy, aren’t you?” You weren’t sure, but you nodded carefully.
“Well, since you’re such a good fluffy, you get to come home with me!”
The big man smiled, and your tiny heart melted. The big man was going to be your New Daddy! You were still shocked from the mean monster earlier, but this fear was pushed away by the swelling of emotion from this amazing news. You purred endlessly as your new daddy stroked you to sleep in his hand. You didn’t even wake up when he put you in a tiny box for the trip to your new home.
