Honor Thy Mother and Father
Also known as:
The Importance of Fluffy Unity
If there’s one statement that should by no means garner debate, it’s that fluffies have families, and fluffies are herding animals. If for some god-awful reason you have a dissenting headcanon, clearly you are lacking self-actualization in real life and are pining for the recognition of your peers. There are hotlines you can call. Until you get the help you need though, always keep in mind the fact that I don’t give a fuck what you believe about imaginary poo-gerbils.
When mommy and daddy love each other;
They start behaving oddly and hold hands. Scandalous.
Since fluffies lack hands, I guess vigorously humping each other while squealing G-rated obscenities is the next best alternative. Yes, from special huggies to carnal rape enfing, all fluffy families start with two fluffies of opposite sex finding each other and engaging in the miracle of life. Although, I’m pretty sure that calling anything about this miraculous is a blasphemy in of itself, and we are probably in the top fifty reasons why God left Earth to fend for itself.
As mentioned in Fluffy Physiology, fluffies were tuned for abundance. In simple terms: copulation is almost always successful and bound to produce a litter size from as little as two foals, to something horrific. What constitutes as horrific? My personal benchmark would be four, but fluffies have been shown to have litters as large as a dozen. As a reminder, the default fluffy mare only has two teats. As a reminder, fluffies are bad at math.
Footnote: It seems to have fallen to the wayside now, but given this information, there is little wonder why some creators back in the day thought it would be amusing to have a severely pregnant fluffy mare undergo rapid biological disassembly. A fluff-splosion, for short. The bitch would burst into a shower of gore, guts, and a G-word for dead foals if there is one to maintain the alliteration.
The gestation period for fluffy pregnancies, like all things, relies on the discretion of the creator or casual participant. Herdcanon errs on a short span of time before the mother fluffy is set to give birth. You will know she is going to be a mother soon, as she will simply not shut the fuck up about it.
An interesting tidbit about fluffy birth that would have been out of place if mentioned on its own in Fluffy Physiology is that foals aren’t shown to have umbilical cords or a placental lining when they plop out of their mother’s crevice. I don’t have anything more to say about this. It’s just a thing that’s accepted. Some art shows an effort to draw umbilical cords, though. In all it’s just a happy little oddity to look out for whenever someone draws a fluffy in labor.
Parenthood is where the real work begins;
With the birth of the foals, the fluffy mother and father will cooperate to the best of their ability to raise their foals. Their best is often not good enough, but “A” for effort nonetheless.
The mother fluffy will be mostly stationary in whatever dwelling the fluffies were provided, or had to provide for themselves. Her role for the newborns is a source of warmth and milk. The father fluffy, if domestic, will simply dote over his children and be overjoyed at the notion of having more, smaller, fluffies to play with. He knows that their owner will satisfy any need that may arise with his family. Deadbeat dickhead.
If feral, or a stray, fatherhood is much more demanding. A fluffy father under these circumstances would already be versed in foraging for food to support his mate, since he would have had to fulfill this duty once she became too bloated with foals to move on her own. The risks inherent with this task are immense. Fluffy fathers vanish trying to provide for their burgeoning families at a greater rate than human fathers disappearing on a trip to pick up milk and cigarettes.
If fortune is kind to the stallion, he will survive these forays into the breach.
If he is retarded, as fluffies tend to be, he may come across another mare and knock her up as well, leaving his former mate to her fate along with the foals.
If the stallion is faithful, then against all odds, he will have successfully brought new fluffies into the wild world that he and his mate were unprepared for, and seen to it that they were cared for so that they may grow up as well.
Raising the foals is its own ordeal;
It isn’t enough for fluffies to be just competent enough to keep their brood alive, as well as themselves. They actually have to raise the next generation of fluffies. There are a slew of complications that may arise in this endeavor. Here is a general breakdown of some of them, that aren’t just general fluffy mortality.
Good babies: This is the objective of any breeding pair of fluffies, usually. Good babies are, for lack of a better phrase, not physically and mentally defective. They follow fluffy neuro-typical thought, behave well with other fluffies, and are intuitive to raise and teach by both the parents and any potential human caretaker. These fluffies will adopt the mannerisms of their parents readily and in time be ready to go perpetuate the fluffy plague plague.
Bad babies: The runts of a litter, and those born with deformities or other malady, are regarded as the bad babies. These things happen. Sometimes a mare will do her utmost to raise these foals regardless in some desperate bid for hope, love and kindness to overpower the indifference of this terrible world. More often than not, bad babies are abandoned or decisively squished in fluffy mercy killings. These things happen.
Best babies: The worst thing that fluffies can do is spoil their foals. The deepest sin that fluffies can commit is spoiling one foal. This is how bestest babbehs are made. For whatever reason, one or both parents picked a favorite of the bunch, and the special treatment has imparted some semblance of worth to the asshole. More than that, the bestest babbeh expects everyone and everything to recognize this worth and bow to its jackshit whims.
It’s a shame there aren’t any fluffy art schools, because this foal is assuredly destined to become a contender in big-herd-tussle II. What an odd mustache it has, too.
Poopie babbehs: Good fluffies love all their babies. But fluffies are also retarded. Since fluffies are superficial beings designed to be distributed with copious frivolous spending, some headcanons purport that this would incentivize vanity to the point that drab-colored fluffies would be the least desirable of all fluffy-kind. This subject, much like the value of alicorns, has led to some of the most retarded exchanges in all of Fluffy Community history. Thus, it has to be written:
I don’t give a fuck whether or not you acknowledge the poopie babbeh headcanon or not. Your personal tastes in pet aesthetic does not matter for shit. Your PTSD from compounded years of bullying does not matter for shit. Your personal experiences with racism, while regrettable and understandably infuriating, have no bearings whatsoever on if people want to indulge in the poopie babbeh headcanon or not. Lastly, the justice of poopie babbeh trope, in which users will go out of their way to vindicate a mistreated poopie babbeh, is lazy and is blind to the point of poopie babbehs, and some aspects of fluffies as a whole: that the world is fucked up and unjust, and that’s just how the cookie crumbles.
With that out of the way, a bunch of people in the past thought it would be funny if the brown and green foals were made to eat nothing but their family’s shit because they looked like turds. And it is. It is a riot to see fluffies deem another of their kind as the resident shit-eater. Huggies and love and all, but you’re still a dookie-muncher. Sometimes they don’t even get huggies and love and the poopie fluffies are shoved into a hole to be perpetually shit on. These things happen.
Rookie numbers, aggressive expansion needed;
Take a few feral fluffies and make them live together. Have one be a leader. Holy shit, we just made a fluffy herd. It’s not much of an achievement. Fluffies naturally seek each other out, because being alone is scary and… lonely. Go fucking figure. Given time one of them will emerge as the “smart one” – relatively speaking here – of the group. This is the pivotal moment of any fluffy herd: did they just submit to a smarty, or did they pick a smarty-friend?
Smarty vs Smarty-friend: As stated in the glossary, a smarty is just a buster-ass bitch who only wants the power of authority to benefit their self. They will appoint toughies as enforcers and keep them in line with the benefits of serving the smarty, and they generally make life hell for the rest of the herd. Fluffies are retarded, so they abide by the rules of a despot sociopathic shitrat because the dramatic plot relies on this.
A smarty-friend just wants to keep the fold alive, yo. Just stop dying, dawg. Don’t go into the dark cave – and you’re fucking dead. Idiot. Dipshit. Just stay still for two seconds while I think.
Apologies for that I may have just channeled Virgil’s stream of consciousness by accident.
Smarty-friends don’t always know what to do, but they try.
Toughies: Usually toughie fluffies are earthies since, as sad as it is, they are usually the strongest of any given fluffy bunch.
Unicorns are sometimes toughies too, and though they may be even weaker than a marshmallow horse-thing, they fight with their blunt horns that couldn’t hurt a small child. En garde, fuckhead!
Especially tenacious pegasi may find themselves enlisted into the toughie fold despite lacking a horn or superior strength by simply being faster than the other fluffies. They aren’t speed demons by any stretch, but they are just fast enough to not get caught in a fight, and have just enough stamina to get their kicks in without getting kicked in return.
These fighting fluffies are a herd’s militia. When facing off with rivals, the fate of the herd depends on them, and the leadership of the herd’s figurehead. Toughies are the smarty and smarty-friend’s strength; they live and die by their word.
General roles: Those fluffies that do not lead or fight have to earn their keep somehow. The most basic of tasks that a fluffy can do to keep the herd going is find food. The fluffies that are good at this are known as nummy finders.
No society is a society if it does not have civil engineers. Fluffies aren’t going to be building their own Greece and Rome, but the least they can do is figure out how to make simple burrows out in the country, or how to best commandeer cardboard boxes and alleyways in human settlements.
These fluffies don’t have a particular terminology for them. Since fluffies are terrible planners to begin with, for every fluffy that suggests a good idea for shelter, there are a bunch more who would rather take up refuge where it’s easier to settle down. A storm drain… a natural cave. It doesn’t pay to be lazy when the rain comes, or when the occupants of that cave decide they don’t want to play roommates to a bunch of child-brained fuzzballs.
Finally, there are the dams and the mares that serve as wet nurses to support them. These mares could have been serving any other role until their mates decided it was time to put a bunch of buns in the oven. Thus, while they are pregnant, these fluffies will dedicate their sole purpose to bringing the new members of the herd into being.
It is an important thing to keep numbers up, but the leader of any fluffy herd has to be discerning with the rates in which the others breed. If there are too many mouths to feed and not enough food to go around…
This is knowledge that is hard earned for a toddler-minded prism-hog.
Miscellaneous roles: Some headcanons provide more roles than others in a fluffy herd. Individual discretion ahead. Have fun.
CONCLUSION
Fluffies are innately social creatures. If they don’t have an owner, fluffies must find companionship with their family units. Lonely fluffies are miserable fluffies, and some headcanons have gone as far as to state that a lonely fluffy will die from lack of attention and affection.
Perhaps the ones that are most vocal about how fluffy concepts and lore are presented are the same in truth: lonely and longing for some kind of validation by having control over something larger than themselves. Ideals. Philosophies about how imaginary genetic mistakes live and die.
They’ll get no such thing from me, though lmfao.