Fluff and Co. Part 4, follows directly after Part 3
by roguesoul
It’d been a long day. And the day wouldn’t stop here- even after you put the breeding room to bed. With Selena this close to popping, you and Alex had been switching off staying at the store. Some mares- Gala and Nightshade come to mind- were experienced, and could get through the birth without any issue, or at least any problem at could end up killing both the litter and the mom. But this was her first litter, and she was young, all kinds of problems could come from that.
You turn off the water, screwing the top of the water bottle on- much safer than bowls- and most fluffies could figure it out, and you hadn’t met a fluffy that could drown from it- er, yet anyway. When it came to their propensity to death, fluffies were experts. As a wise man once said, “Life finds a way,” or in this case, death.
You grab a fresh laundered blanket, frayed and slightly bleached from age, tucking it and the bottle under your arm and going over the food area. The main kibble, baked and dried, was kept in a large tub- but you didn’t go to that- instead to a pink package that you ripped open. You didn’t do much work with the kibble part, that was Alex’s main job- he also managed most of the finances, while you were in charge of fluffy breeding, training and care. At the same time, you’d been the one to help make this one. Instead of the normal mix of dried vegetables and hay, this was mixed with red ginseng, ginkgo biloba, and maca- making it the perfect fluffy aphrodisiac.
You fill the food bowl halfway, before putting normal fluffy kibble in the other one, and you carefully carry it into the other room.
“Hewwo gain, wat mistas hab?” You attach the water bottle to the plastic wall, laying out the blanket and laying the bowl in the pen. “Ooo, aw dose nummies- smeww-hmmm-mahh,” she hums into a light moaning sound, “Smeww-weawwwwwyyy pwetty,” her voice is low and she moves over beginning to eat before you can even speak. Instead you pull away and go to get a made of litter pan, fluffies eat and fluffies shit, they might just be staying in the pen for the night, but that was enough.
You set it up, before going to Pen 1. Nightshade, being the fluffy that she was, barely reacted- only having a single eye open from the fluffy pile. “Mistas, ih sweepie time,” she says, blunt as always. Five foals were sleeping next to her- with her pseudo ‘bestest’ baby, a magenta pegasus with a dark green and bright red mane and tail, sleeping on top of her back. She’d never called the colt her ‘bestest’ she’d face correction if she did. But the mare still did her best to push the limit.
“I’m here for Montgomery- wakie-wakie,” you say, reaching down and ruffling the sleeping stallion’s fur to wake him.
“Mmmm, why-wan sweepies, wong day,” the stallion rolls onto his back, eyes shut and leg kicking slightly and your eye twitches.
“You had a long day?” you say, crossing your arms, “What, perchance did you do all day?”
“Dun knu wowd, buh hah busy day- eatin nummies, pwayin, weading wit foaws, usin wittabots, tayin nappies.”
“Come on, you can go to sleep afterward-plus I’ve got a new friend for you to meet-”
“Ah speciaw fwend?” the stallion is awake now, and he flips onto his belly, sitting up.
“Yes-”
“Can mistas an Montgomwee pwease stahp tawkies, Nightshaye am sweeping!” she says, in an almost passive aggressive tone, as much as a fluffy could be passive aggressive. Which if Nightshade was an example, that was a lot.
“Go eat salt, Nightshade,” the mare sticks her tongue out as you tease her, before reaching down and picking up Montgomery, the large earthie dead weight in your hands. “God you need to lose weight,” you heft him under arms, the nearly 20lb fluffy hanging limp in your grip.
“Am jus fwuffy, nu fat,” you roll your eyes before setting the stallion down in the pen, and Montgomery shakes himself out, sniffing. “Su, yu ah mawe?”
Lucille looks up, she had been snuffling the food bowl, crumbs on her lips. “Awe yu Wuci’s speciaw fwend?!” She runs over to Montgomery, eagerly wrapping her hooves around his neck, hugging him and Montgomery takes the opportunity to look shocked.
“Ah, showd tell mawe?” he looks at you and you shake your head.
“Naw, just do your thing, Monty,” you pull away and lean against the wall, pulling your phone out. You know not to leave the two alone, Monty is a good boy- okay he’s not a rapist at least, but if Lucille started panicking it could ruin her for breeding.
You lower the lights, most of the room had gone to bed anyway, and you glance between your fluffies and phone, trying to babysit without listening to closely to the sounds of fluffy sex.
“EEEE! IH HUWTS!!” You whip your head up from your phone, looking back down at the pair, seeing that Monty was dancing around the dilute mare, he never did like hugs- other than the special kind, and they both suddenly look up.
“Mithtas, Sewena’s babbehs comin!” Jersey, shit. You look down a the pair, before moving towards the pen, but you turn back and look at them.
“Be good Monty, or you and me are going to celebrate no-nut November, got it?” He, at least, takes the opportunity to look a bit scared.
“No knu wat dat means, buh-be good, pwomise,” he stutters a bit, before sniffing and looking back at Lucille, “Pwetty mawe smeww gud.”
You walk away briskly, grabbing a pair of plastic gloves as you do, and with the click you lower the plexi wall to get better access at the mare. She’s panting, god you’d hoped to have a couple more days, just a few more, damnit! Jersey, being the sweetheart that she was, was holding the pregnant mare’s hoof, her sons both half awake and glancing over. “Ih Sewena okay?” You glance up at the lovesick colt- though he looked like he was going to be sick watching her pant, tears in her eyes as vaginal fluid began to drip down her fur and onto the blanket.
“She’s going to be okay, why don’t you go back to sleep, I’ll take care of her- alright?” You pet her hips, massaging her gently. “Selena, you are going to be okay, you just have to breathe, dear.” She pants, gritting her teeth, and Jersey fusses, rubbing the mare’s hoof.
“Ih-hih, hih, why-whysit huwt su muts-hih, huu,” she sobs a bit, gritting teeth and pushing hard, and you glove your hands, as blood stains her white fur pink.
“Just think about your babies, how good it’s going to feel to hug them, to see them play,” you glance back at the pen with Lucille and Monty, you couldn’t see them from here- but if something was wrong, you hoped you could hear them. You look back at the mare, and she’s nodding now.
“Yeh, yeh, babbehs-gud-gud babbehs, wiww hab-hab gud-gud-GU!” she pushes and you massage her gently, you don’t want to force it- this is her first litter, you don’t want to make her shy to birth again. But, damnit, nothing was coming.
“Push, push, push Selena,” she sobs, and you rub her hips, rougher now and Jersey tucks in.
“Fwen do gweat, biggest pushies, fwen,” Selena pushes again, and you quirk your lips, before reaching forward and opening the mare up a little with your fingers, gently, and she screams now- before there’s a wet sound- and peeping, thank fuck for how long it had taken. You catch the foal, it’s large- no wonder it took so long. The larger muddied cyan earthie floundered a bit, his scraggly tail lashing about, and he- yep he, was peeping wildly.
“Ih, ih dat-dat, babbeh?” her voice is low, and she’s sobbing as you give her the colt, and she nuzzles him-and Jersey begins to lick him clean.
“See wike dis, fwen, wickie cwean da babbeh,” she says in a sing song tone, and Selena mimics her, before she starts keening, the next foal was coming out.
“Good girl,” your voice is low, curling and you pet the mare, as she keens, grunting in pain as she pushes hard, “That’s so good, you are doing so good-” the second foal comes out quicker, slipping onto the blanket before you can catch it, but it screams a good healthy scream. “There we go,” you pick up the foal, checking- her, over, and your eyes go wide as you see the horn and fluttering wings on the filly. She was small in size, and looked like a pretty pink underneath the blood and afterbirth. With slight apprehension you give the filly to Selena, she had been good with alicorns before, but it was always a risk. And an expensive risk if something went wrong.
She pants, tears dripping down her face, and you hear a small tearful sound as the mare takes the filly in her hooves. “Su-su pwetty,” her voice is faint, and you watch as Jersey looks over, holding Selena’s son, and the two of you, fluffy and human, watch as the new mother’s face alight with joy, “Babbeh am su pwetty-” she sobs, and nuzzles the foal, beginning to lick her clean.
“Babbeh weawy pwetty Sewene,” Jersey says in a low voice, while Selena grooms the foal carefully. “Mowe babbehs comin, tay biggest bweathies,” she continues and for a moment you’ve never been prouder of the two of them. Two mothers working together, this was why you became a fluffy breeder.
You want to make a note on the foals, especially with that pink alicorn- but too soon Selena starts keening again, and you move your hands back around her, blood and afterbirth spilling over your fingers as she pushes. “IH HUWTS!” she screams, and the foals start peeping wildly, and you see Jersey pull them away to avoid being hurt by their mother as her front legs hook forward to hug herself, “NU-nu, nu tay babbehs, nee hug, an wuh-” she says trying to reach forward before she pushes again, and with a wet slopping sound the foal-shit, foals are pushed out onto your hands, shit falling onto your fingers along with afterbirth, and you pull your hands back in digust.
“Babbehs wight hewe, dey hewe- nu wowwies, hewe-hewe dey aw,” Jersey hands them back over, and you take the blanket from the pen, using it to wipe the foals- earthies, both of them, clean. Twins were common, technically they were all quadruplets, but twins was a common name for when foals came out at almost the same time, and they had a tendency to be similar in personality- and extra clingy compared to most siblings in a litter. You wipe them carefully, looking the two over. They were either light pink, or maybe white, it was hard to tell with the after birth- and you flipped them carefully- the larger of the two peeping wildly, and you frown at the silence from the other. It was squirming in your hands, but its-his movements were slow.
“Mistas?” you’re pulled from thoughts, looking up to see Jersey, the mare having walked over to you, “Gib babbehs nao? Dey nee miwkies,” you give her the bigger colt, but set the smaller one aside. You wanted to check him over more. “Pwee- nee-”
“I want to look at this one,” you note that Selena was looking at you now, a pained look in her eye, “Jersey, why don’t you help the foals start nursing.” The piebald mare looks down, and you can tell she wants to say something else, but bites her tongue as you scruff the smaller colt, moving him onto the blanket and taking it with you for the laundry.
You hear Selena call out after you, but you just keep walking to the surgery room, you walk by the pen with Lucille and Monty, catching them with Lucille quickly getting a drink, and you roll your eyes as you see Montgomery lounging on the side. “Were you good?” you ask, and the stallion looks between the foal in your hand and your eyes.
“Wuh gud, can hab smokie thing?” You quickly look back at him, and the stallion swallows, “Awex gibs dem wen Monty du gud speciaw huggies.” You shake your head. Of course, they’d been obsessed with fluffies doing human things, drinking or playing cards, doing taxes. It was all the rage on YouTube right now, no wonder he’d been so giddy lately.
“I-uh, I’m too tired to deal with this shit,” you walk away into the surgery room.
“Mistas say bad wowdies!” he says in a sing song voice, and you shake your head, you’d deal with the jonsing stallion and your former roommate that supplied his smoking habit tomorrow, you had a foal to deal with. It still hadn’t made a sound, but you could still feel its heart fluttering against your palm.
“Let’s take a look here,” you set the foal on the metal table- it didn’t even squeak against the cold, and you frown at that. You strip off your mussed gloves, pitching them, before putting on a new pair. You are careful as you flipped the foal on his back, probing his belly gently, and there was a gasping sound as you pushed your thumbpad down harder, and bile dripped out of the foal’s mouth. His heart raced, but- “Come on, make a sound kiddo-” you grit your teeth, pushing down a little harder, a small hiccupping sound escaping the foal as more bile spat from his mouth.
