You are Travis, and you have obtained a new friend for Ace, your micro fluffy.
Jess, the gal at the store, helped you scare the crap out of this one, and let you swoop in and be the hero. The fluffy is also a brown one, probably bullied by the other fluffies for his color. Hopefully this means the little creature will act better than Ace did at first. I guess you will find out. Along with the tiny fluffy carrier (basically a takeout carton with air holes) Jess passed you her Whatsapp, suggesting that you text her so you guys could “hang out.” That sounds good to you, but Jess really shocked you today. Her willingness to smash the little fluffies was…almost impressive. It would certainly be nice to be able to maim the shitty customers at your work when they treat you like shit, you think. Everybody gets their kicks somehow, and besides, she’s really cute.
Ace greets you cheerfully when you return home, looking up from his blocks.
“Hewwo daddi! Ace pwese hab nummies? Am su hungwies.”
“Yeah, sure buddy.”
You tap out some kibble, and he eats it greedily while you open the fluffy carrier. Ace sniffs the air carefully, looking up from the very last of his kibble.
“Wat dat, Daddi? Ace smew fwuffy?”
Lifting Ace up out of the cage, you set him on your desk carefully, followed by his new companion. Ace’s tiny face lights up immediately.
“Nyu fwend! Ace su happy tu hab nu fwend! Nu fwend wan huggies?”
Ace chirps happily, running up to the brown fluffy and smothering him with a hug. The pegasus, for his part, hugs back just as intensely as they warble happily to each other.
“Fwuffy wub huggies. Wike nyu fwend Ace!”
“Nu fwend hab su pwetty wingies!”
“Lets see. What should we call you?”
The new fluffy looks up at you, stopping in its tracks as Ace admires his little wings.
“How about…Maverick?”
“Fwuffy am Mavwick? Mavwick wub nyu namesies!”
He frolics and flaps his tiny wings happily, zooming around the tabletop, running rings around Ace. Maverick certainly lives up to his namesake, you think to yourself: you named him after after a fighter pilot in that movie your dad was obsessed with. As the two fluffies play energetically on the countertop, you unpack Maverick’s things: a tiny foal blanket like Ace’s for his bed, and another food dish. You also bought an actually fluffy bed this time, more of a plastic dish with a padded bowl for them to curl up in at night. You set it up in Ace’s cage, which should have more than enough room for the two of them for the moment. After playing, the two of them curl up in your lap as you zone out on the couch, forming a tiny furpile. Ace seems happy, you think. Surely he will be a good boy for his new friend.
You doze off, exhausted from the day’s activities.
You are Ace, a fluffy stallion, and you are so happy! Tonight, daddy brought home a new friend for you to play with, just like you wanted. You had been so lonely when daddy left for “work” each day. You weren’t sure what work was, but daddy explained that he had to go, or there wouldn’t be any food for you to eat. You guessed that it was okay for him to go then, just so you could eat.
But now, you have a friend to play with while he is gone. Your new friend isn’t very pretty, with brown fur, but he did have a pretty tail. And wings! Maverick’s little wings were so pretty, the way they flapped and wiggled when he was happy was so much fun. You were sure that despite his fur-color handicap, you would be great friends.
Everything was lovely. You slept in a soft furpile with your new companion, snuggled up together tightly. In the morning, you ate your kibble together, and then played and played. That afternoon, after napping together, you decided that you wanted to play with your pretty blocks. But Maverick was already playing with them. No matter, they were your blocks anyway, so you would explain.
“Mavwick, Ace wan tu pway wif bwockies now.”
“Ace wan pway bwockies wid Mavwick?” Your new friend queried, offering a purple block covered in shiny patterns.
“Nu siwwey Mavwick. Ace wan pway wid aww bwockies.” You strode over to your toys and took them from a confused Maverick. A puzzled look shown on your new friends face, and his chin quibbled.
“Why fwen take bwockies? Ace nu wub Mavwick, nu wan pway?”
You sighed. Some fluffies just didn’t understand how things were. Obviously, these were your toys; daddy had bought them for you, after all. If you wanted to play with them, then obviously that was your right.
“Mavwick nuh be dummeh. Dese toysies am Ace’s toysies. Nu wan pway wid Mavwick wight now!”
“Mavwick am gud fwuffy, nu am dummeh!”
Maverick stomped his foot at you. How dare he? You were daddy’s boy, and you made the rules. Obviously, you needed to teach this upstart a lesson. You lashed out a hoof and hit Maverick on the snout.
“Yu shut up, dummeh poopy fwuffy! Ace am smawty hewe!”
Maverick sniffed back tears after you hit him, and turned around dejectedly. Ah, he understands now, you think to yourself. Suddenly, Maverick bucks his legs back and knocks you over.
“Dummeh smawty nu huwt Mavwick. Mavwick am gud fwuffy, nu wan sowwy hoofsies!”
The impudence of this motherfucker, you think to yourself. You charge at him, biting and hitting. You manage to knock the pegasus over, and squatting over him, release your bowels in anger, covering your new friend in feces.
“Dummeh poopy-fwuffy take biggest sowwy poopies!”
You announce triumphantly, dismounting a sobbing Maverick.
“Huuhuuhuu! Why nu fwend am meanie? Mavwick onwy wan Ace shawe toysies.”
Your vanquished enemy lay sobbing in a pile of your sorry-poops, and you returned to play with your blocks, ignoring his distressed cries. Your playing was interrupted however, by the exact thing you did not want to hear.
“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, ACE?”
“Oh poopies.”
Daddy was home, and he was unhappy.
——
Your name is Travis, and you have just come home to a mountain of trouble. Well, a tiny mountain of trouble, covered in blue fur, and equipped with an attitude that was apparently immune to all the punishment you had given it so far.
“Ace, just what do you think you were doing to Maverick?!”
Maverick is cowering in the corner of the cage, as far as he can get from Ace. Ace, meanwhile, is playing with ‘his’ blocks, unconcerned at the plight of the poop-covered ‘friend’ he had been so ecstatic for the night before. Your hand almost shaking with anger, you seize the little fucker by the neck, and move to stuff him into his “sorry can."
“Nuuhuuhuu! Ace onwy wan pway wid toysies, Mavwick nu wissen tu smarty!”
“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL YOURSELF?”
No more bestest baby, you guess. He has transitioned to calling himself a smarty. You were afraid this might happen. You had worked hard to discipline him and make him follow the rules, and you had thought it had worked. Apparently you were wrong: the attitude was just embedded too deeply to shake. Apparently, it is time for drastic measures.
Holding the wriggling stallion over the sink, you roughly squeeze his lower half, trying to empty the creature’s bowels. A trickle of poop escapes, along with a stream of pee. You shake the fluffy carefully, the last of his waste dripping into the sink, then stomp over to your desk and slam him to the desktop.
“Huuhuuhuu! Meanie daddi gib Ace meanie owwies! Why daddi nu wuv Ace?”
No amount of begging is going to stop what happens next. You ignore the spoiled little shit’s cries, and whip out a roll of duct tape. Tearing off a piece with your teeth, you flip Ace over and tape him belly-up on the desktop. Storming off to your bathroom, you return with an electric trimmer. As it clicks on, Ace writhes in fear, affixed firmly to the table with strips of tape.
“Nuu! Nu wike buzzy ting! Pwese nu huwt Ace!”
“Too late for that, asshole. All you had to do was be good.”
You take the buzzer and begin to trim his hindquarters, being none too gentle about it. Methodically, you denude his crotch, buzzing his tiny balls, the hair around his ass, everything back there. In minutes, the area is bare, covered in stubble and nicks from the trimmer. You set the trimmer down, and pick up a pair of small pliers. Slamming them shut quickly, you crush Ace’s tiny shriveled testicles. They pop like tiny grapes, and Ace screams.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE! WUMPS HAB TEWWIBWE OWWIES!”
The injured fluffy begins chirping like a foal, sucking at his hoof for comfort, but none comes. Twisting your pliers briskly, you rip his ruined scrotum off, and blood dribbles from the stump of his jewels, smearing over his bare flesh as he writhes in pain. You swap the pliers for your small hobby torch, and click the butane flame to life. Planting your hand firmly over the squirming fluffy, you quickly sear the bloody wound shut, the flesh of his ruined scrotum sizzling and popping from the heat. The smell is awful, and Ace stops struggling as he passes out from the shock of it.
Ripping the duct tape free, along with a fair bit of Ace’s blue fur, you stuff the unconscious little shit into the ‘sorry can’, and shut him up in the cupboard below the sink. Now that your troublemaker has been taken down a peg, its time to deal with his victim.
Maverick is still crying in the corner as you approach.
“Daddi, pwese nu gib huwties to Mavwick’s no-noes! Mavwick id gud fwuffy.”
The little brown pegasus is quivering in fear, covered in Ace’s shit.
“Don’t worry little guy. Only bad fluffies get such bad owwies, and you are a good fluffy.”
You pluck the smelly fluffy from his cage, and carry him carefully to the sink.
“Nuu, wawah huwt fwuffy!”
Maverick scrabbles his little hooves against the stainless steel, hoping to escape drowning, but you hold him carefully, and he soon relaxes in the warm trickle of water.
“Mavwick…wike wawme wawa. Feew nice. Smew pwetty agan.” Your little fellow chirps happily as you shampoo him with a children’s product, and then dry him carefully.
Wrapped in his blanket, and clutching Ace’s stuffed kitty, Maverick nods off to sleep on your chest, as you binge true-crime series on TV, sipping a beer after your ordeal.
This has been quite the reversal.
