Ngl. This was. Inspired by Spare some milkies? by @Carniviousduck
“Nice wady gib Nummies?.. Nice mistah gib kibbwe!?”
You sit at the entrance to your alley housie.
You used to have a human mummah and daddeh. With a REAL housie. But thats getting ahead of yourself. Your name is Bruce. You’re a pretty blue earthy colt with a darker blue mane and pretty tail. You lived in paradise for most of your short life. When you were a babbeh you lived in a bright colorful saferoom with mummah and other babbehs. The humans always told you that you were special. You even graduated from Hasbio™ Fluffy Kindergarten™. They called you and all of your bwuddas and Sissies premium babbehs.
When your adoption day came you were soooooo happy. You were told from birth that you were destined to have a loving new human family. Sure you loved mummah more than anything but human mummahs and daddehs can take much better care of you. They can give you things mummah never could. Like sketti and toysies.
You were taken home by what seemed at the time to be a happy couple. A loving new mummah AND daddeh. Most babbehs only ever get one or the other.
The day you went home was the happiest day of your short life. They gave you a pretty saferoom, toysies, a litter pal, your own TV, they even talked about getting you a special friend when you grew up big and strong! … . … . But… That’s not how it went.
It happened late one darkie time.
“YOU BITCH! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!”
Daddeh screamed.
“QUIT YELLING AT ME YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”
mummah yelled.
“OH SORRY! DID THE PRINCESS EXPECT A PARADE WHEN SHE DECIDED TO FUCK HER THERAPIST!?!”
This went on for what seemed like forever.
Finally after mummah got done putting her toysies into a boxy she started boxing up YOUR toysies.
“AND TAKE THAT OVERPRICED SHIT MACHINE WITH YOU!”
Daddeh says before slamming the door. You make scaredy peepees at the sudden noise. You were scared. You weren’t a chirpy babbeh but you were still only a widdwe babbeh! Babbehs weren’t for scaredies! They’re for Huggies and wub!
After that all you can remember is mummah putting you into your travel boxie and leaving in her vroom vroom munstah. You stayed in the travel boxie listening to mummah make sad wawahs for a loooong time. Finally she stops.
“Sniff ok bruce. Sniffle you go make good poopies while mommy makes a phone call.”
She lets you out of the travel boxie and watches you stretch your leggies in some grassies beside the big flat rock. Finally you gain the urge and squat to make poopies. You can hear your litterpal in the back of the vroom vroom munstah whining about being hungry. You feel bad that you can’t give him the poopie Nummies.
“… W-what do you mean no!?! Just a hookup!?! I’m homelesss now because of you YOU FUCK!!!”
She hangs up her phone and tosses in in the back seat. She makes more sad wawahs with her thinky place in her hands.
Your hasbio™ training kicks in.
“MUMMAH WOOK! BABBEH MAKE BESTEST DANCIES TA MAKE MUMMAH HAPPIES!”
She looks at you but she doesn’t smile.
“Thats nice Bruce. But mommy has other things she needs to focus on right now.”
She says in a shakey voice.
She puts you back in your travel boxie and puts you in the back with your litter pal.
“Huuhuu. Poopy fwuffy nuu wike poopies. Buh am su hungwy. Pwease can hab poopie Nummies?”
He asks.
“Am sowwy wittah fwen. Babbeh nu hab poopies. Mummah make babbeh make gud poopies in gwassies.”
You both sulk as the car moves. You hear mummah make a couple more phone calls to the same results.
“Mummah?.. Wah am housieless?”
You ask innocently.
“Its where you don’t have anywhere to go Bruce. Uugh why did I let that idiot talk me into quitting my job and being a stay at home girlfriend? I don’t even have money!”
She says in a sad tone.
You didn’t understand. How can someone not have a housie? You were always told that Fluffies are meant for housies. Your underdeveloped thinky place has owies.
Finally she stops. She starts unloading all of your stuff.
“Mummah? Am we at nyu housie?.. Did ou bwing pwetty safewoom?”
You ask cheerfully. She says nothing. All of your stuff including your litter pal and fluffy bed was taken out of the vroom vroom munstah.
Finally she grabs your travel boxie.
She takes you out and sits you down. You’re still outside. Your mummah has arranged your stuff by what looks like a trash can in an alleyway. Your bed and foal kibble bag inside of a cardboard boxie. Your litter pal off to the side.
“I’m so sorry bruce. I really am but… You can’t stay with mommy anymore.”
She says. Suddenly you feel tears welling in your see places.
“W…wah?.. Buh babbeh nee mummah! Pweeeaaaaase nu weab babbeh!?!”
You plead. But mummah only stares down at you with sad eyes.
“I’m sorry Bruce. But mommy can’t afford to even feed you right now. You have a better chance of surviving here and… And. … once mommy is settled in. If you’re a good fluffy and stay here I’ll come back for you.”
She says with tears falling down her cheeks.
You still don’t understand but you were always trained to follow mummahs orders.
" Sniffle otay mummah… Bwuce be gud… Pwease nu weab babbeh fowevew!"
You cry. Unable to watch anymore mummah runs off to her vroom vroom and drives off. You didn’t even get one last huggy.
That pretty much catches you up to now. The first few bright times weren’t bad. You had nummies, wawah, and your litter pal to talk to. Two bright times ago the nummies ran out.
Every bright time you saw more humans walking in front of the alleyway. Mummah said not to leave the alley. She never said to not sit at the end and ask the nice humans for Nummies.
“Pwease gib babbeh Nummies nice mistah?”
The man stops.
“Aww well aren’t you adorable. Hmm… Wanna come home with me little guy? My little filly would looove a special friend. And your shade of blue is beautiful.”
He says.
Your see places grow wide.
“Weawy!?! Mistah be nyu da…huuhuuhuu! Am sowwy nice mistah. Buh hooman mummah teww babbeh ta stay hewe.”
You say in tears.
“Well that sucks. But I understand little dude. I’m not gonna take ya if you dont want me to… How about this then?”
He says reaching into a bag and dropping a few strange yellow sticks. They snell heavenly.
“YAY NUMMIES! FANK OU NICE MISTAH! BABBEH WUB OU!”
You say dragging the salty fries back to your box housie.
“Bwuce fin nummies! Your litter pal says. Ca… Can wittah paw hab sum?”
He asks sheepishly.
“Bwuce am sowwy wittah fwen. Mummah say ou haf ta nummie poopies. Weaw Nummies am bad foh wittah fwen.”
He doesn’t say anything else only sulks.
Three bright times later you wake up and stretch your leggies. You hear something and look outside of your boxie housie. Wawah… From the sky?
You don’t realize it but when mummah put your stuff out she put a plastic sheet over your box to keep you dry.
No nummies today. Wawah bad for babbehs.
You can hear your litterpal outside crying about being wet. Nothing you can really do.
“Huuhuu why wahwah nu wub fwuffy? Why mummah nu wub fwuffy! Nu wan be wittah paw! Huuhuuhuuhuu”
Bright times came and bright times went. You started growing. Sadly you learned just how brutal becoming a big fluffy can be. As you grew you needed more Nummies to feel full, but you recieved less. You stopped hearing “oh what a cute little foal” and started hearing “get out of here ya fuckin shitrat. Ya got four legs. Find your own food.”
You stayed hungry most days. Your litter friend talked less and less. He was also losing his fluff. You saw the pink flesh underneath show. He face looked gaunt. You apologized constantly as you kept only producing tiny poopies.
You never got enough Nummies to make bigger poopies. The sky wawah did something to your litter pal. The brown boxie that his head poked out of started to rot away. The site underneath wasn’t pretty. It was a filthy legless husk with poopy brown fluff. The horror you felt realizing that this whole time you’ve been making another fluffy num your poopies was… It was something else.
“Wittah fwen… Do … Do ou wan weaw Nummies?”
You say pushing the remains of a soggy hot dog that someone threw out of their car window as they went by.
The brown skeletal figure laying in front of you looked at the Nummies. Two silent tears ran from both of his see places. He took the soggy bun in his toothless maw and took a chunk of the spongy bread swallowing it with what seemed like glee.
“F…fank ou… Bwue fwen…”
He says as his see places close.
“Fwen take nappy?”
You say. He doesn’t respond. You shove him with your hoofsie.
“Fwen?.. FWEN!!!”
It was far too late. Your only friend has gone forever sleepies. Now you were alone… Alone in this… Not housie.
You continue the next bright time begging the passerbys for nummies.
“Hewwo nice mistah. Can fwuffy ha- SCREEEEEE!!”
Before you know whats happening the strange smiling man kicks you hard in the thinky place. Sending you barreling dkwn the alley.
You come to your senses a couple seconds later.
“Huuhuu ! HUWTIES!”
You look and see a puddle of booboo juice under you. With more dripping from your smell place. The metalic scent of blood flooding your nostrils.
You drag yourself back to your box. Your tummy has hurties but the smell place hurties are worstest.
“Huuhuu. Miss mummah… Miss daddeh… Miss housie an an an… MISS GUD NUMMIES! HUUHUUHUUHUUU!!!”
~ three weeks later
You lay there. Now a fully grown stallion. Its been four bright times since you last had Nummies. You’re so weak. You almost cant even walk. Why won’t people help you? They gave you plenty of Nummies when you were just a babbeh. What changed? Do people not like big Fluffies?
You lay there with a headache. Suddenly you hear something.
“Dis way! Fwuffy smeww somefin oba heew!”
You hear.
“Dis betta nu be nudda piwe ob poopies ow gib bwudda sowwy hoofsies.”
A green stallion followed by a larger purple mare carefully trot down your alleyway.
“H…hewp…”
You say pathetically.
This grabs their attention.
“SISSY! FWUFFY AM SMEWW SUMFIN! DEWE UDDA FWUFFY HEWE!!!”
The green one says in a cheery tone creeping towards you.
“Nudda fwuffy? In dis awwey?.. Buh dewe am neba Nummies hewe?”
She asks confused.
“Wook at him. He am skewtaw! He definitewy nu hab Nummies in fowevew.”
Green replies.
“Huuhuuhuu… Pwease gib Nummies? Fwuffy hab wowstest tummy owies eba!”
You plead weakly.
“Dummeh fwuffy! Why ou nu weab awwey wen dewe am nu Nummies!?!”
The purple one denands.
“Huuhuu! Mummah say stay hewe an she cum backsies foh fwuffy.”
You cry.
The two suddenly get a strange worried looking expression and stare at each other.
“… How wong ago am dat?”
The green one asks.
“Huuhuu Bwuce nu knu. Was onwy widdwe babbeh!”
You cry.
“Ou namesie am Bwuce?.. Bwuce… Pam am sowwy buh… Ou mummah nu cummin backsies.”
The purple one who’s name is apparently pam says.
“Ob cowse mummah cum backsies. Mummah nebba wie ta bwuce! Fwuffy kinagawten teww bwuce dat!!!”
You say.
“Am wowse dan we fink.”
Pam says.
“He got da dummeh bwain.”
Green agrees.
“Wook Bwuce. Dat nu how fings wowk. Cum back ta hewd wif us. We spwain ebewyting.”
Green says.
You really really want to.
“Hewe. Gib each of us a fwont hoofsie. We hewp.”
For the first time since you were a helpless foal you leave the alley you called home.
“Gween put toysies in nummie bag. Make gud twiboot ta join hewd.”
He says sticking the ball, the blockies, and Mr. Teddy in the grocery bag he has hanging around his neck.
You don’t protest. Even if you wanted there’s no way you could. Maybe this is for the best. Things might be looking up.
So normally with my stories I’m not the democratic type. But here recently I’ve seen quite a few choose the ending pieces so I’m gonna join in.
Leave your vote on Bruce’s fate fuckers. I’m sure I won’t be disappointed.
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