Fluffensborn (EzPete)

Among the veterinary community it has been observed that fluffies, despite their fragile nature, are exceptionally resilient to physical trauma. Before the first wave of major legislation restricting abuse, thousands of videos flooded the web documenting all manner of torment on fluffies.

On particular video depicted an orange fluffy, now little more than a heart and lungs attached to a head and spine, crying in pain, and begging for death for close to an hour. Another, turned to swiss cheese by birdshot after being throw in the air, despite major blood loss and punctures to the brain and lungs, it was still able to crawl almost three meters before is succumbed to its wounds.

Similar animal experiments of the past centuries and documented combat casualties show that animals have a great capacity to remain conscious through major trauma but never to the extent of that fluffies appear capable of.

The prevailing consensus given the lack of transparency from Hasbio for their genetic intellectual property is a shortsightedness in their code. As domestic pets they were never designed with physical and emotional trauma in mind and as such fail to properly process or react to it.


You are Blondie, a white alicorn mare with a blonde mane. You sing a song to your tummeh babies that the nice ‘Missehs Wen’ sang to you and the other fluffies to calm you down. You didn’t understand the words she sang so you made up your own. Mostly repeating the rules that all the nice ‘doctahs’ gave you so your babies would know what to do when they were born.

You were going to be the best mummah ever just like your orange pegasus mummah! She was in the next box over and you could hear her singing to her new litter. You continued to hum and tilt your head to the beat as you grew tired. Most of the doctahs left and the lights were low. It was just the one with the grey fluff on his head, Mistah Zak-ewewl.

You missed your special friend, a yellow unicorn, a lot and wished he was here to see your babies, the doctah man took him but told you he was going to a new home. You knew he would be so happy with his new daddeh, ‘mistahs awtowpsie’ that you worried he would forget about you.

You felt a pain in your special place. “Pwease bebbehs. Nuu gib mummah tummeh huwties.” You chirp down to your stomach. Then the pain gets worse, much worse. You feel the sudden urge to use the bathroom. A scream escapes you. “BIGGEST POOPIES!” so loud it wakes the other fluffies. You would be worried about breaking the rule about being loud during sleepy times if you weren’t in so much pain.

You felt a large turd squeezing out of your rear. “Pwease! Nuu bad poopies! Nee’ tu waiwt tiww am in wittah bawks!” But you were in too much pain to crawl over to the tray and make good poopies. “Pwease Mistah Zak-ewewl! Bwondie hab wowstest tummeh huwties! Nee’ hewp tu gu gud poopies!” You looked over at him, but he continued to look at his ‘boowk’ and ignore you.

Then another turd came out. Then another and another. You made more poopies than you had in your entire life, and they were all bad poopies. This would mean no sgetti day for many forevers! You felt a final turd squeeze out of you followed by relief as the tummy hurties subsided.

You were relieved for the pain to subside as much as you worried about the trouble you were going to be in for pooping outside of the litter box. You went to turn around and look at your mess and noticed it was much easier. You tummeh was much smaller. NO! Your tummeh babbehs disappeared! “Nuu! Am soon mummah nuu mowe!”

“Huu huu huu!” You hear chirping. “bebbehs! Wewe am bebbehs!? Mummah am hewe!” You look around frantically for the noise before springing to your feet and whipping around completely to see them all in a pile of booboo juice where your poopies should be.

You frantically drop down and start hugging them. “Bebbehs hab wowstest huwties! Suu manneh boo boo juwse!” You start licking them clean as they continue to chirp and notice none of them are actually hurt. Relief washes over you. You plop down and begin to place them on your milkie places.

One is just like you, a little yellow colt with a wingy and a pointy place and a coat just like his daddeh, the other is a brown wingy foal. The suck on your milky places with passion. As they get their fill they unlatch naturally. The wingy pointy burps cutely while the brown one spits up some of his milkies.

As you are swapping out the first two foals for the second two, both also brown, the doctah stands up, his chair scraping against the ground to alert you, and walks over to your box. “Hewwo Mistah Zak-ewewl! Bwondie am mummah nao! Nu am make bad poopies!”

“Yes yes, let’s see the specimens.” He grabs your wingy brown one as you try to reach for it. “Pwease Mistah, nu bad uppies fow bebbeh! Am tuu widdwe!” He slaps your hoof away. “Erbärmlich.” He says sternly turning it over in his hands ”“Scheiss” angrily. “Look at it, ugly, covered in its own vomit.”

You gasp at his words. “Nu am ugwy bebbeh! Am pwettiest an bestes bebbehs ebah!” He plops it down in the cage roughly and grabs your wingy pointy you reach up to protest more but he slaps your hooves away as before. “Ja, dis is ze best one! You vill love this one!”

Mistah Zak-ewewl plucks the other two off of your teats and replaces them with the wingy pointy. “She vill be Blitzen.” He grabs the plump Pegasus and begins to close the cage. “Pwease! Mistah Zak-ewewl! Bwondie nee’ aww pwetty babbies tu be bestest happeh mummah!”

What happens next terrified you. He flung the cage door open so hard that as it slammed open even the fluffies in the cage next to you chirped out in fear. “You want vat? Dese?” He shouts at you. Spittle hitting you in the face as he slams the foals down.

Tears well up in the corner of your eyes. “Wai Mistah hate Bwondie’s gud bebbehs?” You stare directly into his eyes. Ready to break down. You don’t realize it because of the adrenaline but you are exhausted from giving birth and the emotional stress has already overwhelmed you too.

“Why? Vhy? Because my father fought and lost a war over hideous ratten like dieser.” He slammed his finger down on top of the wingy brown one breaking its wing. The foal vomited more milk as it began to chirp in pain. ”Because ve must hide and wait for our chance! You are nothing more than an experiment!”

“Nuuu!” You pounce over the foal and begin to hug it. “Bad uppies! Pwease nuu huwt bebbeh! Am onwy widdwle bebbeh!” You feel his hand squirming under you as he pries it from your hands. You fight it frantically but he quickly over powers you.

You flail your hooves helplessly reaching for the foal as he dangles it above your head. While you are preoccupied, he reaches over and plucks up your pointy. Both now dangle above your head. “You vill choose!”

“Nuu chuuse! Nuu Chuuse! Mummah need aww bebbehs!” They are just out of reach. It gives you so much heart hurties.

“If you vill not zen I vill!” He pinches the wingy baby’s hoof between his thumb and index and twists. The leg rips off. You scream in protest, but he just ignores you. He repeats the process with the foal in his hand as he uncomfortably shifts the shrieking terrified chirpy baby in his hand. Soon, all it’s legs are missing, and he drops it unceremoniously in front of you.

You look at your legless foal. It chirps feebly as blood pools under it. You try to comfort it with huggies but it keeps chirping. You are offered no reprieve as he grabs the next brown foal. “You vill choose!”

“Nuu chuuse!” You cry out again. This time he turns the winging pointy baby on his hand and begins to pinch it’s hooves. It chirps in panic. You stare up in panic. “NUUUU! MUMMAH CHUSE!” He stops. You didn’t have a plan, you just screamed to make him stop.

“So. You have chosen ze superior specimen.” He plops the brown down in front of you, leaning in, he whispers “Kill it.” You stare down at the foal, then back up at him. “nuuu…” He wraps his hand tightly around your wingy pointy and it squeaks.

You look back down at the chirping brown foal. Your sad wawas are falling on his head. “Sowwy bebbeh. Huu huu. Mummah wub yuu. Huu. suu muchies.” You put hoof on top of his head. You try to make it quick. Pressing down, he begins to chirp frantically. “Nuu cwi bebbeh. Huu huu. Am gunna gu tu sgettiwand.” You press down harder trying to ignore the chirps, his fragile skull gives way and mush squirts out from under your hoof.

“Wunderschön!” Mistah Zak-ewewl exclaimed. “Now for ze last one!” He pressed your last brown chirpy towards you.

“Nuu! Nu wan!” You close your eyes and push away. “Pwease, mummah nu wan huwt bebbeh. Mummah nu wan bebbeh.” You push and push against his hand and he forces the foal towards you. You keep your eyes closed tight hoping this is all a scary night time picture. You keep pushing until you don’t feel anything pushing back. You peek out to see your hooves hanging over the edge of the cage.

Mistah Zak-ewewl is smiling at you. You don’t know why but his smile scares you. “Look at your handiwork!” He points down. You stand up and look down from the edge of the cage, your last brown chirpy baby lay on the ground as a little sack of shattered bones, it wiggles its leggies and lets out an intermittent scree but is completely broken inside.

“Ve lost because we did not have ze strength to do what ve had to. Our new army vill be strong. It vil be ze best in ze world. Danke Schonne Blondie. I vill take care of Blitzen for you.” He slamed the cage shut in your face and walked away. You hear a door shut.

You are left alone as the adrenaline wears off and the shock sets in. “huu huu…” your pillowed foal still faintly cheeps. You go back to him and try to comfort him and fix his booboos with huggies. Exhaustion finally gives in, and you fall asleep comforting your child.


Thomas arrived in the morning as he did every day. He often arrived earlier than the others simply because he lived closer to the lab. As he stepped into the lab he was met with horrifying scene. A brown foal that had bled from its orifices dragged itself halfway across the floor before expiring. He walked over to scoop it up quickly realizing it had died hours earlier.

Nearby a pink mare on the lowest level was reaching desperately from her cage toward the dead foal. “Pwease! Stwawbewwy gib poow bebbeh huggies an wub an make eberwyting bettah!” As he made it in front of the cages the fluffies all began to scream and beg to him. “Pwease sabe fwuffy! Scawy mustah gibe bebbehs foweba sweepies!”

He looked into the cage of the mare that was pregnant the night before. Her other two foals were dead too. One crushed by her hooves and the other one she bit the legs off of. He cleaned up the mess pulled the dead foal out of the sleeping mare’s grip.

The others arrived one by one, and Thomas had to explain the situation to them as they walked in to the screaming fluffies he was not equipped to calm. The stress of all the crying fluffies caused two mares to miscarriage.

They went to check the security footage but found the camera had somehow not been turned on. They tried to stir Blondie awake but all she could do was mumble about needing a pretty bestest baby. Finally, Doctor Ngyen went over and knelt down to the cage beneath Blondie. “Hey Strawberry.” She addressed the light pink mare. “Can you tell me what happened last night?”

Strawberry came forward towards the cage door. “Bwondie hab biggest poopies! Den heaw bwondie am say bwondie nee pwetty bebbehs and nu wan tu chuse ugwy bebbehs. Den bwondie mummah gib bebbehs biggest huwties! Mistaw Zak-ewewl come an’ sabe wastes bebbehs! Bwondie am munstah mummah!”

She comforted the mare but ultimately could do nothing to remove the trauma of watching a foal slowly die just outside of her reach. She glared at Whitman, her eyes were glistened with the faintest tears as she held back from crying “I told you not to call the brown ones ugly in front of them.”

Whitman was taken aback. “Hey, this isn’t my fault! Besides, they aren’t supposed to come out brown! I worked very hard on all those colors. Anyway, where’s Zacherle?”

They never did find Zacherle. The filed a report with upstairs over the litter loss and mentioned a missing foal as per Strawberry’s testimony. Corporate hired a private investigator to find Zacherle but nothing ever came of it. There were rumors he had taken a plane to Argentina. He had family there allegedly.

Blondie, the first alicorn born in the lab, a genetic hiccup like the brown foals, was euthanized. None of the other fluffies wanted anything to do with her after she killed her litter. She couldn’t communicate properly anymore as she was socially isolated and would only cry and scream about needing her pretty foals.

In truth, the team was happy to see her gone as the sight of a foal killing monster terrified all the other fluffies.


A sequel to The First Skettis to explain more fluffy psychology in my universe.

For this story specifically, it’s the Alicorn hate but I wanted to add another story line.

Didn't get it?

Zacherle was a Nazi’s son and was literally only taking Hasbiobucks for an animal trial before attempting to produce human supersoldiers for a 4th Reich.

Since Zacherle was the head scientist and implanted specific genes in fluffies, any psychopathic fluffy behavior in my stories will be handwaved by literally blaming Hitler.

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Also, I guess a shoutout to @Bonnacon for their comment which subconsciously inspired me.

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Why thank you, most kind.
If one may, in return:

Scheiße, instead, I think?

I am not sure what out means, in this context? The traditional scheißratten may be more to the point.

May I suggest Danke, schöne Blondie?

& is the poor squalid creatures name inspired by Blondi, perchance?
If so, nice touch :+1:

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Kinda figured the dumbass was a Nazi

Seems like this could turn into a series with a ‘master race’ of fluffies being bred (which would take less time than humans)

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My german is almost nonexistent. I didnt bother with any special characters so it would be easier for the audience to read.

Thanks, I had some words mixed up in my head.

Yes. She was named after Hitler’s dog Blondie.

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I’ve got a villain who would find a kindred spirit in Zacherle.

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They may be scheming to implant such traits into something more sturdy?
An easily available species, canines, say. Germanische Urhunde, & all that.
Along with breeding capacity & ability to survive trauma, the big thing would be implanting skills & behavioural patterns, coincidentally also proving racial memory is real! ( because they invented it, but abstract logic is not a thing nazis value highly ).

A new German Volk, to replace the one that failed the Führer!

Or, more, practically, they want fluffy disease resistance. Quite a few Unit 731 members did quite well for themselves after the war :nauseated_face: , if one is up for some Axis reunion.

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I did a story where the Nazis originally created Fluffies as a worker race but couldn’t get the experiment down right and were forced to give up due to the end of the war with the Americans picking up the research and monopolising the idea

I’ve sort of moved away from it in terms of how accurate it is to canon, it was initially just an excuse to showcase Josef’s grandfather and the fact that the Mongolas have always been pieces of shit, but it’s a jumping off point for the BFM-Verse.

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The Nazis tried to create fluffies in my headcanon too. Or rather, they tried to create hellgremlins. The goal was basically to annoy the Allied Powers into surrendering to the Axis.

That villain I mentioned? He was involved in Projekt Höllengremlin. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Fortunately, the project was a failure in most timelines. Most timelines.

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Thats the plan but I will have Blitzen get into a bunch of hijinks that may or may not cause problems for that development program.

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Because fluffies ruin everything!
Even the rise of the Fourth Reich. Hope someone points out how embarrassing that is to those scheißkerle.

Guess we won’t know until there’s a part two, if there is one

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IIIIM NOT THE KINDA GIRL
WHO GIVES UP JUUUUST LIKE THAAAAAAAT
OH NOOOOO OH

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The first fluffy beong a heart and lungs on a head and spine! I’ve always wanted a good story where there is hardly any fluffy left. That kind of experiment and trying to keep that thing alive has always fascinated me.

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Nazis are fucking weird, man.