Fluffy Fun Room (Ace)

Katie held onto her precious fluffy as she and her father got out of the car at Fluffmart. The brown and green fluffy clung to his owner, the eight year old girl tucking him up against her shoulder.

“Mummah nu wub Fwanky ? Fwanky nu am gud fwuffy?” He asked, the stallion already knowing full-well why he was here. Big daddeh had said that he made bad poopies on the floor too much. Honestly, the fluffy didn’t mean to. When he was playing with toysies and having too much fun, it just kind of slipped out.

“No! I love you Franky! Don’t be silly.” The girl did love him too. Always taking the blame for when he made bad poopies so he didn’t get a sorry-sticking or time in the little crate that served as his sorry-box. His mummah had to write lines or do a lot of chores every time she said it was her fault for not watching him. Big daddeh had finally had enough though.

“You’ll like it so much more here, anyways! You get to stay in the Fluffy Fun Room. It has fun right in the name.” She said wisely, having been told about it by her father. As they walked into the shop and past rows of merchandise such as Extra Sketti Kibbles and stuffy-friends, their dad would talk to the clerk running the front desk about the special room that fluffies got to stay in sometimes. Twenty bucks was passed to the clerk, indicating a door at the far end of the shop near the restrooms.

“Go ahead and take him back there. Trust me, he’ll love it.” The clerk said, not needing to go along. No need. Katie and her father moved to the door which which opened with a small ‘hiss’, opening slowly and letting them get a good look at where Franky would be staying.

It was a very nice room for a fluffy! There was all sorts of play equipment they could goof around on, comfortable looking beds, THREE different televisions playing different programming from FluffTV. A room where one could watch Dancie Babbehs, Cinnamummah, or Dancie Babbehs Xtreme. That sounded like Heaven! There was no shortage of toys: A well-stocked chest of them was practically spilling over with balls, blocks, stuffed friends. There were littertrays supplied for fluffies of all ages and sizes, all spotless basically. More than anything?

“Hewwo nyu fwend!” A pink and yellow mare came running up, looking to the obviously glum Franky.

“Nyu fwend! Dis am bestest bestest pwace ebah!” A purple & green stallion exclaimed, meeting the two humans and the new fluff at the door. Frank gave a hopeful tail waggle. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Mummah…Fwanky am miss best mummah. Wub yew.” He didn’t want to leave his mummah, and she didn’t want to leave him here either. Clearly it was a very nice place though. From the shining floors and the cheerful posters all over the walls, it was apparent they were well taken care of.

“I love you too, Franky. I hope you and all your new friends play lots of games and eat so much skettis.” Setting him down on the floor, she gave him a smile and a wave goodbye. Franky returned the wave with his hoof, watching as his mummah and big daddeh left the room, the door slowly closing behind them and locking in place automatically.


“Nyu fwend, am Fwizzew.” The pink mare who had met him at the door smiled in a friendly manner. Franky bashfully waggled his tail.

“Hewwo. Am Fwanky. Wan pway?” Turned out, she did want to play. Breaking away from him in a fast run, she zipped right through a little hidey-tunnel that had been set up in the room. Chasing after her, he broke into the tunnel and didn’t see her anywhere. Tongue sticking out stupidly, he walked out the other end and was tackled by Frizzle who had been hiding at the side.

“Fwizzew am catch yew! Teehee! Neba catch Fwizzew!” Running away again, he was determined to get her! The mare quickly made her way up a piece of play equipment, Frank bounding up after her. Cornered at the slide, she squealed happily as he ‘fwumped!’ right into her with a playful tackle and they went rolling down the gentle decline and flopped onto soft foam mats. They went tumbling and bumping into stuff, playfully wrestling around.

“Yew am bestest at gamesies! Wan be speciaw fwend? Gib babbehs!?” Frizzle asked, apparently thinking being good at tag was suitable material for someone to give you children. Franky grew wide-eyed.

“Yis! Wan be daddeh!” So the two would engage in activities which you can imagine if you’re a sick fuck or something. It was enough that a mummah had to gather her babbehs together and make them look at a television.

“Nu hab speciaw huggies in fwont ob babbehs!” She scolded the pair, apparently having come from a household where people actually had some common sense.

After they had finished their baby-making activities, the pair trotted off to a kibble bowl. It wasn’t filled with any nummies. Huggies had made him super ready for nummies!

“Sowwy. Dewe nu am nummies ‘fo Fwanky ‘o bestest speciaw fwend.” Lamented the brown fluff, poking at the empty dish with one hoof.

“Mehbe sweepies ‘DEN nummies?” Frizzle asked, and honestly that was a great idea! Whenever Franky had sleepies, new food appeared in the bowl back at his old house. Boldly marching to the center of the room, Frank lifted his head and announced:

“BIGGEST FWUFF PIWE ‘FO SWEEPIES!” Fluffpile!? He’d said the magic word. Every single fluff in the place stopped what they’d been doing and rushed toward him. Giggling and being tossed around, the fluffy found himself under a soft warm pile of fluffies. This was the bestest ever! Back at home he had to make pretend with stuffy-friends. He nuzzled in close to new unknown pals, yawning and content even if he did want nummies.

“Bestest bwight times ebah…Fwanky am be daddeh ‘n hab su funsies.” His eyes closed, drifting off to a peaceful slumber with his pals.


The only person working the Fluffmart at the moment was closing up the shop. Feeding the fluffies in their display cases, switching out their litter, ignoring their pleas for attention. It was pretty easy to do the longer you worked here: Seeing them as living creatures became almost laughable.

One last point of business was going back to the stockroom and retrieving a canister drum which was large enough to have to be gripped with both hands. Hefting it up and bringing it along to the Fluffy Fun Room, he got the door open clumsily and peeked inside. All of the little idiots were snoozing together in a big pile. Good! That should make tomorrow morning easier. Setting the canister down, he’d twist a nozzle on it and quickly retreat. The door closed behind him with a hiss, sealing up perfectly. Flipping the sign over, the Fluffy Fun Room became the Goodbye Room. A warning to other employees that they shouldn’t enter unless the ventilation had been turned on.

Franky didn’t immediately know anything was amiss until the frightened screams from above him. Poopies plopped down in the pile, peepees trickled down. Being at the very bottom meant he was at the receiving end of a whole bunch of it.

“Nyu fwends!? Wut am wong!?” He asked but nobody really answered him directly. Instead they screamed and bellowed, coughed and hacked.

“Buwny huwties! Nuuuu! See-pwaces huwties! Eeeeee!” There was a scramble of confusion, the fluffpile shifting and twisting around as limbs locked against one another in a panic. Fluffies who were attempting to escape found their legs locked to other legs, or their manes intertwined with tails. It was a mess, chaotic tugging.

“Bweave pwace huwties!” Cough cough. Hack. Retching. Vomit joined the poopies and peepees, Franky screeching in protest at the disgusting stuff which was puddling in around him. Little did he know that he was one of the lucky ones. Those on the topside were having their lungs and eyes eroded by the caustic mist, a gas which was very much not humane at all. The humane stuff cost a dollar more and Fluffmart sure as Hell wanted to maximize their profits, didn’t they?

“Speciaw fwend! Speciaw Fwizzew fwend, wewe am yew!?” Frank attempted to nudge fluffies out of the way but it was no good. Fluffies were beginning to die even if it was a slow and agonizing process, their throats filling with mucus and vomit, breathing it back into now scarred lungs. Things began to drift down from the pile now that they were dying off. Chirpies, the only things small enough, dropping likes flies off their mothers and tumbling down into the crevice of meat. Franky watched as they rolled down all around him, the fur on their bodies peeling away to show exposed skin or burned down from the corrosive. One still peeped miserably, flailed it’s little stump limbs, affixed itself on the tip of one of Franky’s ears in an attempt to suckle. The only thing it knew was miwkies and mummah’s song, and with one rattling chirp it would let Frank’s ear plop out from it’s needy mouth and grow limp.

By now the air was stinging to the stallion. Even if he was smackdab in the middle of the circle and covered with other fluffies, it’s not as if the oxygen in the room would be any different from him. It hurt. It hurt so bad. Tears flowed out of his eyes, tracking down shit and vomit streaked cheeks. Breathing felt like someone was stepping directly on his chest. It began to burn fiercely under his fur: He’d been bitten by an ant once and this felt like so many of the tiny bugs all making nummies of his body.

“Mummah! MUMMMMAAAHHHH!” It was hard to speak now. Sicky wawa ran out from his nostrils in great watery streams and it feel like his breathe-place was bubbling. Franky curled in to the bodies around him. He didn’t want fowebba sweepies. This was scary. It was huwties.


The same employee who had set off the fog bomb in the Goodbye Room came back the next morning well before they were set to open. Just like always he flipped on a switch which kicked on the ventilation system. It would take about twenty minutes before the area was cleared, actually quite an impressive system. Fluffmart might not give a shit about fluffy’s but they sure cared about humans. Once the indicator light came on to display the room was safe to enter, he’d go over to the door. Flip the sign back over to read ‘Fluffy Fun Room’, drag over a big wheelie trashcan and enter the place.

Just like he thought, this would be way easier than normal. Usually they would catch the gas as they slept in their own little groups or individually. He mentally thanked the poor little idiot who had suggested a fluffpile. Getting the trashcan up to the mountain of flesh, he’d wouldn’t so much as give them a thought as he maneuvered a pole with a grip down to start flicking them into the trash. Stiffening bodies went fwumping down into the industrial sized black bag, the employee humming a jaunty little tune to himself. Compared to how it usually was where they’d freak out and start beating the piss out of each other or ram into walls out of confusion and pain, this was EZ street.

At the very bottom of the pile was a somewhat rare sight: One had lived! A brown and green stallion, gurgling on a foam of saliva and whatever food had been in it’s belly. It looked up to the employee, though of course it couldn’t see anymore. It’s eyes were absolutely fucked, appearing to have been rubbed right out of it’s skull with it’s own hooves. It breathed shallowly, a front hoof twitching slightly. Still bearing the gore from where it’d scraped it’s face against it to try and make the pain go away. The grabby-pole went down, sank into his chest, flicked him right into the can with his friends.


Franky didn’t know where he was anymore. Was it dark times? Bright times? There had been so many huwties. His see-places had stopped working and then he had gotten rid of them. It still hurt. For a brief moment, the weight and waning warmth of his nyu friends had left him. There was the sound of a big daddeh! Trying his best to speak, he found that he could not. He wanted mummah. He hated the Fluffy Fun Room. A brief moment he found himself picked up. Bad uppsies? It could only be good uppsies right now. There couldn’t be anything worse than this.

Frank found himself on the top of the fluffpile now.


Someone once mentioned a story on the booru where a Fluffmart had it’s own euthanasia room called ‘The Goodbye Room’. I have searched idk how long trying to find it, could not, so I decided to just make my own.


Theres some art on here to that effect. Idk the story


Foal Euthanasia, by RQ (FB ID: 54816) This is the closest thing I could find in all my searching and it lacks elements the guy described in his post, namely there basically being a gift shop and the name itself.

wolfram has one, similar, but hugboxish and nothing like the guy described

If anyone finds that damn story let me know it’s been a wild goose chase


Yeah, its a pain to search the Fluffybooru story archive as very few kept their titles. This is the Wolfram Euthanasia Room 35289


Maximilian 33657

while there is a bunch of stuff about euthanasia most of its is either just murder or being thrown into an incinerator.


This is the comment in question and I genuinely can’t find anything about it. I’m starting to wonder if he got story elements mixed together or something.


I am going through the text archive as this has intrigued me, this is an interesting one but not fluffmart.

Same As Me - Author Unknown - 49360

My name is Dr. Rory Emerson. And I run an animal euthanasia clinic. With a specialization in fluffies. It’s not the most glorious of jobs, but years after retiring as a veterinarian I needed something to do. You can only play golf and watch The Price Is Right so many times before you want to rip out your hair from boredom.

Now I’m sure some of you are wondering. Why euthanasia, and have I worked with fluffies before? Both simple enough answers.

I offer a much more affordable business, rather than taking pets to a traditional veterinarian. I offer both in home, and at facility. Traditionally this can run pet owners anywhere from fifty to near a grand when a veterinarian does this. Me? My packages start at twenty five and max out at two hundred.

And as for fluffies, no. I retired before they came into his world and market. And being licensed to care for them was a whole nother’ college process. I was ready to be done. I packed my bags and closed up shop the first chance I got. No time for more college, that’s for young kids with hopeful dreams.

I like nearly everyone in the U.S. Have delt with my share of fluffies, both domestic and ferals demanding that I let them in or give them food. Some yelling at me that. “This is their land now!” They intrigued me just as much anyone before. However, my lawn started to suffer for it. Though a simple investment of a chain link fence solved that problem. The occasional smarty would get under my skin. Though a nice swat with the broom was almost always more than enough to send them away. Various friends of mine jumped on the band wagon of purchasing them once they became a real problem and therefore much cheaper. Some were extremely well behaved little angles, others unfortunately ended up being spoiled little brats, who despite training and work, ended up in my office.

Ahem… Getting off track, excuse me. I learned all that I could about these amazing little creatures of science. Various online forums, conventions, okay I admit. I took a few weekend classes here and there to see how they work at the local community college. Got money to burn and far too much time, why not? I was no mean an expert on fluffies, but as a former vet myself. I pride myself on being at least abit more well off than the average person.

But unfortunately, there were more dark sides to them than just smarties and their breeding, or even poor behavior. Abusers… People who to tortured the poor things just because they could. They’d do terrible things from plucking out eyes, burning them, drowming them despite their fear of water, to “pillowing” them. A.K.A, removing all of their legs. Some people believe that these so called “pillow fluffs.” Can be just as happy as a traditional fluffy…

But I’ve euthanized enough of them to know, that’s complete bullshit. Not once have I ever met a genuinely happy pillow fluff… They always come in depressed repeating that same line. “Wan die…” Over, and over. Just hearing that, in their child like voices… You never get used to it. All I can offer them is a gentle goodbye. And attempt to keep their owners from buying more and pillowing the poor things. I keep tabs of who sends me what… When they actually come in and have the service done. I upload their information to a do not sell national list. Wether I’ve done anything or not, I couldn’t tell you.

I keep getting off track excuse me… Anyways! I rented out a few office spaces downtown and had them all connected. The setup is simple enough. Waiting room where my secretary Lisa works, she handles all the phone calls and appointments. This is usually where owners come and wait. Simple enough room. Just posters with various fluffy facts and old outdated magazines. Yes, I am that Doctor! And a tv up in the corner, usually tuned to the local news.

They may choose to have their fluffy stay with them in here. Or let their fluffy run around the play room. Which as its name implies, is just an unusually large safe room with toys, fluff-tv playing on constant loop, a few nurses to supervise and play with fluffies, or read to them for story time. And my personal attendant fluffy. Nurse Joy… What? I’ve loved Pokèmon since I was a kid, and these are the closest thing we’ve got for now. Anywho, she’s a white unicorn with a scarlet red mane and tail. We let her wear a old nurses paper hat. She loves it, and she loves her job. Shes closer to being Lisa’s pet than mine really, she goes home with her. But I bought her and take care of her during the day.

Not so much at first though, always making friends who’d end up taking. “Fowevah sweepies.” But after much training and explaining that these fluffies are in a lot pain and or very old and sad. That forever sleepies is a good thing for them. It took her awhile, but she finally learned and makes sure every fluffy gets as much hugs as they need and a friend to fall asleep on. Though I know, deep down it breaks her heart every time one of her new friends goes to sleep for the last time. Aye yah… That’s the worse thing about fluffies I must say. They make friends far too easily, and it hurts more than we could ever hope understand. Hell, that’s why they call it forever sleepies, because they can’t wrap their little minds around the actual concept of death.

Gah always getting off track, forgive me. I always make sure to have Lisa inform owners that the play room is free of charge while they wait. Some owners just want their pets dead because they can’t take care of them, some fluffies are just too old, some who like before can’t take care of fluffy properly but don’t want it to suffer in a shelter. Either way, I try and suggest that while they wait. It’s best for their pets to enjoy their final moments. It makes it easier for both parties. Though older grey fluffs tend to know the end is near, and are far too old to play. And would rather just snuggle into their owners lap until it’s time.

Then our final front room is our sleepy time room… Similar to out play room, this is where our fluffies, save for ferals, nameless drop offs, and smarties are sent after receiving their euthanasia shots. There are beds spread around the room with various blankets and cuddly toys. Owners are welcome and encouraged to lay next to their fluffy and pet them and tell them how much they love them for the final time before they drift into sleep forever.

Fluffy metabolism is fast, and most drugs will outright kill a fluffy, hence the extra college courses on how to actually treat them separate from most animals. But I’ve come up with a formula that takes around fifteen to twenty minutes before the fluffy passes away. There’s no pain save for the shots themselves. Most clients scream and cry about the “wowstest huwties!” And “Meanie doctow!” The typical fluffy overreaction to everything. But I’ve learned to tune it out. The pain subsides within minutes and they forget it ever happened by the time one of the nurses brings them to the safe room.

Then we have our less pleasant areas in the back. Our gas chamber. It’s where ferals brought from the street, smarties, people just choosing the cheapest package, the city exterminators, nameless drop off in boxes, breeding mares from mills who’ve lost their “value.” The rest who just want them gone.

It’s just a plain white room. No toys, no tv, no happy music, no warm colored walls. These fluffies are simply herded in at the end of every day and nitrogen gas is pumped into the room from a vent on the floor for several minutes until nothing moves. The garbage men make their final stop for the bio waste and I go home.

The second room is just holding cages. Since the process is quick and I’m busy during the day anything dropped off city or likewise are kept in simple metal cages. They’re provided at least some last comforts. It’s warm and it cool inside, better than a cold winter day struggling along, or a burning summer afternoon dying of heat stroke. They’re provided a large trough of spaghetti flavored kibble, various water bottles spread around so there’s enough to go around. And the comfort of being around friends before they go. Some still cry and beg to be let out, usually abandoned domestics or smarties. Ferals are usually happy to live the small amount of luxury they’ve never known.

Packages are priced and described as such-

Basic-$25: Pet is dropped off by legal owner and owner signs away rights to pet. Pet is given to staff and placed in holding cages in back until euthanasia by nitrogen along with other fluffies at the end of the day. Fluffy is picked up by community bio waste management.

Basic City-10$ Per Fluffy: All fluffies brought in from exterminators and or city officials are given a discount for “bulk” amounts of fluffies. Same procedure as basic owner package where fluffies are kept in holding cages until gassing.

Advance Package- $75: *Walk Ins welcome but appointment preferred. Owners bring their pet in and spend any amount of time up until close with their pet in the play room with other fluffies and owners. When ready fluffies and owners *Highly recommended, follow Dr. Emerson to the euthanasia room where Dr. Emerson administers various shots to the fluffy. The owner and or nurse bring the fluffy to the sleepy time room to spend final moments saying goodbye to their pets. Euthanized fluffy is inspected by Dr. Emerson to confirm death, then returned to owner for disposal.

Premium Package(Appointment only.)- $150: All listed in the advanced package. But owner and fluffy have a short photography session provided by Autumn Perez at Smitten In The Mitten Photography studio. As a final memento for the grieving owner. Fluffy is cremated afterwards and owner may pick up ashes at their convenience in decorative urn.

Ultimate package(Appointment only.)- $200: All listed above in premium and advance package. But fluffy and owner are given a special coupon for a paid spaghetti dinner for two at Vitale’s Authentic Italian (Fluffy friendly.) Restaurant the night before or day of. Fluffy and owner get a maximum of two hours alone in play room prior to shot administration and sleepy time room. Fluffy is cremated and ashes are placed in custom urn that the owner may choose to pick up at their convenience within the next day.



Shelter Management Part 1 - Author Unknown - 32219

The Grades and Floor 1

Hey there! The new recruits, I see.
Welcome to your orientation day here at “All Things Fluffy”!
I am John, the trainer from Human Resources. Nice to meet you all.

Right, then.
Before we start, let me first take a quick look at your history with fluffies… It says here each of you has history either of owning one or more as pets or as abuse subjects. Great! Good news is, we got a spot for both paths that one chooses to take with the little balls of fluff. I guess I should explain what makes our private shelter not only very profitable, but also extremely popular, as far as having several live streams over the Internet on some of our exhibits.

You see, most shelters operate on government subsidizing and their premise is keeping fluffies off the streets first, and having happy customers second. They have no vision as to what people want to do with a fluffy, and above all, how to profit from that.

We take a different route. We have a total of four floors, three above ground, and one very soundproofed underground as well.

First floor are the “Graded Pens”. Grades from A to C are present here, with quality and prices dropping the further away one goes from the entrance.
Second floor houses the accessories department. Anything from food and sorry sticks up to electric training vests for those hard to teach fluffies. This floor also hosts the “Bye-bye” section, providing euthanasias, obituaries, burials, cremations, and pretty much anything a hugboxer would need to send their pet to Skettiland.
Third floor is our exclusive breeders section. Nothing is missing here, from the simple extra large cages and feeding troughs for mass breeding, through automated food and water dispensers and feces/methane extractors, and all the way up to leg restraints, paralizers, mummah masks and milkbag “plug-and-play” kits. In its back offices are also our in-house weaning sections.
The -1 basement floor houses our so-called “Ring of Tears”, the fluffy restaurant, and the free abusement room. As you can imagine, we don’t get many hugboxers on that floor…

Today, our orientation starts here, on Floor One - “The Graded Pens” area.

What are “graded pens” you may be asking? I was just getting to that. Here they are.
//The trainer points to a row of cages starting from the door and going around the corner, straddling across all the walls of the floor. In the middle, there is a separating walkway with one-way glass walls//
These are our fluffies for sale to the general public. We have four employees that are responsible for sorting any newly arriving fluffy in a pen, ordered in a very specific way. We utilize a short series of tests to determine how buyable a fluffy is, grades ranging from A to E, with an S being a special grade for alicorns, which are, understandably, kept separate. Let’s sneak into the testing room and watch.
//You make your way into a small room, and peek at an employee interviewing fluffy after fluffy, and putting them into correspondingly lettered shoots in the wall.//

“So, fluffy, do you have a name?” {Nu, nice mista, fwuffy am fwuffy. Nice mista gib nyu name? Be nyu daddeh?!} “Haha, no, sorry, I am here to just ask you a few questions, little fella. Later on, you all might get a new daddeh or mummah.” //cheering can be heard from the cage on the ground// “So, imagine that you and another fluffy are having nummies, but it has less than you and it is still hungry. It is asking you to share some. What would you do?” {Fwuffy am bestest fwuffy, nee more nummies dan otha fwuffy. Dat fwuffy am dummeh, nu can hab!} “Ok, alright. Let’s play another game. You are playing with toys, but you need to make poopies, what will you do?” “Dat am easy, nice mista! Fwuffy go tu wittabawks and make good poopies, den pway!” “Great, good answer on that! Time for you to play a nice slide game!” //The employee puts the fluffy at the opening of a shoot marked “C”.// {Weeeeee!}

“Ok, next up is this little one, hello t-” {Dummeh hoomin, smaw-} //With a grin on his face, and before the smarty can continue his tirade, the employee roughly jams the now screeching fluffy into the shoot marked “D”, with its screams disappearing somewhere below.//

Alright, this was the process that we employ for separating fluffies. Here is the full list of grades that we use, it will make things a bit easier for you.

S Alicorn. An alicorn can be discounted in case behaviour problems are present. Prices are usually 399$+, where rare colour plus intelligence combinations can be sold for several thousands, as it is provided the best training available, and would excel above what one might see as the cognitive level of a fluffy. Rarely modified on purchase, but if the customer chooses to do so, free modifications are provided from the shop, such as amputations, castrations or anything that might strike the customer’s fancy.
A Best-behaved fluffies, litter-trained, kind, never selfish, higher intelligence than their peers. 80-200$, negotiable, comes with extra goodies. The “perfect” fluffy, almost as if it is a cheap alicorn. Modifications for this grade are also free.
B Good-behaved, litter trained, kind, never selfish, average intelligence for a fluffy. 15-50$, depending on colouration and extra performance in a trait or activity (such as keeping its mouth shut, not attacking alicorns etc.), can throw in a free sorry stick and 1kg mid-range kibble as an incentive. Modifications remain free on this grade as well.
C Low grade fluffy, fluffies put in this category vary as per their cage stickers - either not very well behaved, or having litterbox problems, or a physical defect such as a malformed wing or a crooked leg. Prices vary from 2 to 10$, and modifications are prices at 2$ per fluffy.
D Often called “death row” or “snake food”, this category includes runts, brats, milk bandits, rapists, cannibals, you name it. Falling into this category places them in our special amusement basement, known around the country and the Internet simply as “The Ring Of Tears”. Price is 1$ per fluffy, buyer decides its fate. Cheaper bulk rates for factories and laboratories.
E Smarties, 0.50$, they are given only water, left to eat each other, or consume feces. We don’t care. Buyers decide if they want to take them, or utilize the free abusement room, or send them for 1.2$ extra into a selected “Ring of Tears” activity. Mortality rate is high, and smarties are not sold for outside-the-shop activities. This building is their final stop, one way or another.

Many times I get the question, what about fluffy families, and pregnant mares? Sucks to be them, I reply. We separate all families, and give fluffies time to adjust to their new environments. Adults are always lined up on one end of the pens, and foals on the other side of the corridor, beyond the one-way glass walkway in the middle. As for the pregnant mares, unless they present some very rare colours, they get turned into milkbags for our weaning pens. We are very proud of our stacked milkbag technology, which we will see when we get to the Breeder section, and its back rooms, where we keep the unweaned foals and the milkbags. In the chance they do have breeder qualities, we either breed them, also on Floor Three, and subsequently display them for sale there, alongside their litters, or pictures of them, in case they are weaned and moved downstairs and the dam is expecting a new one.

And here are the cages. On the left side is the alicorn room, currently empty, as we sold the remaining six yesterday, and have not had any new births. On the right, you can see the long stretch of pens with the rest of the grades. As you have undoubtedly noticed, we have no direct access to categories “A” and “B”, and have to instead walk through the one-way-mirror middle corridor. This allows customers to see fluffies in their natural behaviour, and only pick the ones which they truly like. Needless to say, we do not segregate colours. This is especially apparent in the first two categories, as fluffies there are always the best few, and never mistreat each other on the base of having “poopie” colours. Don’t ask me, it’s their form of racism, from what I understand. Needless to say, these high-grade fluffies do not have this, and are bought very quickly, for a nice profit for us. Still, they would all attempt the good old “Nuy daddeh!” screams in attempts to get a new owner, so to ensure customers are not misled by those pulling of heartstrings, we made this small corridor. That way what they see is what they get. No screaming or other shenanigans to sway the customer. As a matter of fact, the fluffies here understand that there is a customer and a new daddy for them only when they are taken from the pen and told so. No matter the colour, you can be almost 100% certain anything from “A” and “B” sells out in a manner of weeks, if not days.

Here we arrive to “C”. I still can’t see the fluffy from the room before, I guess it is still getting medical examinations or something. This section is hugbox paradise, as you can tell by the screaming fluffies trying to get oru attention, the glass here is two-way, and one can get right up to the pens. As there is no top, the glass stops thieves, yes, thieves. Especially edgy teens who feel like abusing for free, but don’t like dumpster diving in the alleys or parks. The broken legs, the amputees, the abuse survivors, they all end up here. It is essentially our “heartstrings” section. If anyone got to this place and did not select a fluffy already, they are either very stingy customers, or look for some dirt-cheap abused fluffies to abuse or hugbox into oblivion. Whatever, we do not discriminate customers. Their fluffies-their rules, after all. Unless one would have good colours, the rule here is simple. One month. After that, if the supply of D-grade is high, and there are no factory or laboratory requests pending, it is the kibble maker or the restaurant for them. Waste not, want not, right?

The D-grade “Death Row” is on -1, so we will cover that when the time comes.

That’s it for the morning for those who are not assigned on Floor One, those of you who are, please follow me in the back rooms to show you our kibble processor and the shower restraints. The rest get an extra long lunch break. We will see you at 2PM.
//The trainer uses his ID card to unlock a door on the back, leading to a long corridor. In its end, two door opposite to each other can be seen. Low humming and sound of water can be heard from them.//

The one on the left is the showers. We do not take dirty fluffies into the pens, and depending on their grade, we take different measures of care in the washing. Oh, look, he is our C-grade friend from before!
Cute. As a C-grade, he gets the washroom, which is a small square room with showers, and several water drains. High pressure sprinklers douse fluffies with bursts of soap water and normal warm water. We get only 4 per cent drownings in it, so it is pretty safe. Next to it are the deluxe fluffy-safe showers, where employees hand-clean fluffies suspended in special restraints, so that we keep the drowning accidents way under half per cent. Still, some manage, we never figured out how. Even security camera footage shows them dropping dead as they stand, with water pouring out of their nostrils. Fluffies will find a way, I suppose.

And on this side, oh boy, hold on to your stomachs, it’s the grinder. Those of you with hugboxy inclinations might want to skip this, and request not to be put on kibble duty. None? Great, let’s go in, shall we?
This is how we keep such a high profit - home-made kibble. Oats mixed with meatballs. For fluffies, from fluffies, as the advert goes. Oh, no, haha, no no, that is Fluff-O’s, not our product, we don’t ship for outside consumption, apart from giving out some free extras with fluffy purchases. Just used the description, as it is pretty accurate. Dead accurate. You see, methane factories, fluffy mills (yes, we supply those, they are registered with VAT, so it’s legal) and labs can only take so many C-grades off our hands, and with the amount coming in, we would be unable to find space for all. And unable to feed all those hungry mouths. So instead of just gassing them and dumping them as biowaste, we reuse all but the heads in order to re-purpose them into food for the remaining fluffies on site. As you can see, and hear by the screams, someone is loading the machine right now, so let’s observe.
{Pwease mista, be nuy daddeh, nu wan bwoom bwoom munsta, scawy!}
//An employee dumps a whole crate of fluffies of all colours and defects on a conveyor belt with high plastic walls.//
{Mummah, nee mummah, Chirp!}
{Aw, dis nu twue, fwuffy hab bad sweepy pictchas, wiww awake time nau. Dis nu weal.}
{Wan die. Wan die. Wan die. Wan die. Wan die. Wan d-kkkrrszzzzzt}
As you can see, fluffies of all shapes from the C-grade are being fed into the grinder after their month is up. You can see and hear everything on the conveyor, from pleas, through wan die loops, all the way to hints of budding insanity. What, the chirping sounds? Nah, that one also had its month, it just reverted to infancy within its mind due to excessive fear. It was actually a grown-up. They all get their month. And some even get adopted. The rest get processed here, and in turn help to fuel the hopes and dreams of those still alive, by keeping their stomachs full, and the abuse on them from to bare minimum. After all, less expenses means higher salaries, and thus happy staff. We really take good care of our staff here, as you will see in the afternoon where you receive your welcome packages and policy induction trainings.
As for now, you are free to go to lunch now, and will see you at 2PM with the rest.

Shelter Management Part 2 - Author Unknown - 32586


Hello again, trainees. Our second tour is on the second floor. I thought we could squeeze the third floor as well, but a break is in order, so we will take it easy floor by floor.
This is floor number two - Accessories. This is where most money comes from when ordinary customers get a fluffy - the desk you see over there is where they sign up the 7-days warranty period should they get An S, A or B class fluffy from us. C and D do not enjoy such privileges. Besides, those who buy Cs and Ds don’t usually buy supplies for them, most are abusers from what I’ve seen. They shop from cheaper places, and from hardware stores.
Walk with me, as we go through the isles and, aah oops, nearly tripped on one of our mascots. Roger, these are our new employees. Guys, say hi to Roger, one of our Alicorn mascots, specially trained in convincing the customers into buying more stuff. {Hewwo, fwuffy am Wogew! Am mascot! Bai mowe tings, youw fwuffy will wub nuy toysies and bwankies!} Haha, there you have it! Ok, let’s start with the essentials isle.

Here they are, the things you can’t go without when buying a new fluffy - carriers, blankets fluffy-safe water bottles. All in neat colour-coordinated packages, to match your fluffy of choice. They go for 25 each, with the items selling as singles for 15 a pop to fool the customer that they are striking a bargain by buying the packs. If you are to be put into this department, pitching the packs to the clients will be your primary goal. Other items come second. We trained out alicorns each to a specific isle, so whenever you feel unsure as how to sell something extra to a client, call up the corresponding alicorn to do its shtick. It took a lot of our time to train them, and they went through a lot of pain to learn this. They know better than to forget their lines. In fact, two of them are years-long veterans in this, they practically can almost run this floor on their own and will help you sell whatever. The two with the caps on their heads. One of them has no mane under the cap, the other has burn marks under its belly, so you can be sure they know what happens if they mess up. In the end of the day, they have not forgotten their lines in months now. Such a good track record has more than paid off for the training we gave them. They are paid in spaghetti, and are used as breeders for customers’ mares too, so they are in no position to complain about some missing patches of fur or burn scars, anyway.

Coming up is a bit less interesting part, the foods section.
Here you can find your standard off-the-shelve kibble and spaghetti varieties such as Fluffo-s and Crapgetties. What is to note are the red labels in the end of the row. They are under lock and will require your assistance to retrieve, as they all carry certain effects to a pregnant mare. And horrific side effects to a stallion. Fuck, trust me, don’t give it to stallions unless you have always wanted to see what a haemorrhagic fever such as ebola does to a body. The visible results are the same, minus the infectious agent. What are these foods? In the red section you can find both three varieties of the infamous Huggies Chow - “Big Litter”, “No Litter”, and abusers’ favorite, “Runt Litter”, all in improved formulas. Let’s take a look at each.
“Big Litter” is when you want your pregnant fluffy to most of the time figuratively, and sometimes literally, burst into babies. The usual fluffy litter is between one and four, five to seven being very big litters. This goes to twenty, even thirty. This is almost guaranteed to kill the mare, and is usually used by breeders to force a recessive gene to appear out of failed brood, such as an ugly earthy born to two alicorn parents. Get it pregnant, make it explode into fluffies, at least some should have either the parents’ colours or alicorn genes. Generally seen as a high-risk - high-reward approach to alicorn breeding. Not much use outside of it, unless you are into fluffy babies, and wanted the mare off your hands.
“No Litter” will cause a miscarriage, and in some cases will also make the mare lose interest in having further litters. It is the kibble of choice for our non-breeder everyday customers and the usual problem of “fluffy wants babies, owner doesn’t, fluffy runs away, gets knocked up, runs back beaming with pride”. That, or giving her a standard abortion, or a falcon punch.
“Runt Litter” will severely cut off nutrient supply to the fetuses, while still feeding the mare. The result is what fluffies refer to as “dummeh babbehs”, or as us humans know them - runts. Some will be derped, some will have body parts missing, while others will be stillborn. Mostly used either as a punishment, or a form of psychological abuse. Every now and then a healthy foal might get born, have not asked what owners do to those, but seeing as they were already punishing their fluffy with dead babies, I don’t suppose we will see any of those offspring here at the shelter.
Whenever a customer inquires about any of the chows, you are to explain in great detail what each does, and ALWAYS notify them that the shelter is in no way responsible for the effects of the food on a fluffy, and using it during the 7-days return period makes the warranty void. ALWAYS! I am dead serious. We’ve had some real interesting returns after the chows were used. Most of the time were stallions.

Toys are up next. Judging by your CVs, you all know the deal already, so I will be short here. Blocks and balls. All from memory foam. Also two kinds of stuffed toys - the more expensive that warm up when hugged, and the normal ones. Short and simple. Our mascot for this isle is pretty good at selling toys, with his puppy eyes and the stories he tells the customers about how happy the fluffy will be with the new toys. In fact, you already saw Roger a few minutes ago. This is his isle.

Sorry Sticks. Eh, we tried to get a mascot to pitch these to customers, but it never worked. Five weeks and two dead alicorns later, we gave up. This one is all on you. We generally sell all sorts of sorry sticks here - ridid, extendible, metal, plastic, electric, wood paddles, electric fly swatters for that extreme pain of electricity arcing through the fluff and genitalia… Yes, I did say electricity, why? Oh, riiight. Resetting.
Listen, whatever you may have read on the Internet about resetting a fluffy, forget it. Here is the real deal about this:
True, you can make a fluffy lose its memory. Take as car battery, jab one wire on top of skull and one between the eyes, and poof, memory, speech and reasoning centers zapped. People assume it’s a done deal - you fry the brain, you get a brand new fluffy with the same colours. Nope. As every neurosurgeon will tell you, electricity is bad for the brain. This goes for fluffies even more, being retarded products of human research and experiments.
Granted, for a year or so you will have a new fluffy. But the brain damage from the “reset” as people call it never really goes away. It will start stumbling, its speech will start to slur. From then on, the fluffy is considered into an onset of FADS - fluffy acquired dementia syndrome. Same as human dementia, but far more aggressive and quick. In a matter of a few months, the fluffy will be an unrecoverable wreck, and there is no cure. As soon as first symptoms manifest, the death clock has started. Most people who reset fluffies just dump them at shelters and never get to see the syndrome, but it is real. As we are a shelter first and a supermarket second (officially), all new fluffies come from streets or closing shelters. If a person comes here to give a new fluffy to the shelter, we always ask if it was reset. It if was, straight to the D section, regardless of colours, or even if it is an alicorn. We do not sell defective merchandise to our customers, it is what makes us leaders in what we do. So, yes, fluffy shock prods and bug zapping paddles are ok, even on the face. They arc the electricity between very short distance, and not through the whole skull as is needed to wipe the memory.

Sorry Boxes isle is a mixed bag for me. The alicorn we intend to put here is still in training, if you hear a muffled fluffy screeching, that’s probably him, but the way things are going, he will be slurried in the grinder or just sold to a breeder, depending on the physical and mental damage from the training. I don’t have high hopes for a mascot for the isle, same thing with the sorry sticks case. They are too damn afraid of the things, one would think alicorns would be smarter… A fluffy is a fluffy, in the end of the day. Such a waste of expensive stock… Anyway, where was I? Oh, sorry boxes! We sell a variety of these, as they are among the prime tools for disciplining a fluffy, as you may know. Let me list the most notable ones.
The standard sorry box - black plastic box with a small window, it has uneven floor and a raised arch in the middle so that fluffy can’t lay down and must stay up uncomfortably while ridged floor hurts its leathery hooves. Classic.
Collapsible walls one, this one is among the newer, a bit more expensive models. You can modify side wall sizes and angle towards the floor, making it as uncomfortable and cramped as you like, going all the way to a stuffed reverse triangle, making the fluffy put its hooves in a line for maximum torment. We have had a lot of positive feedback for this one.
One of the more modern iterations of the classic model the infra-sound sorry box. It looks the same as the classic, except for a small cheap-ass infra-sound generator to its back wall. Infra-sounds affect fluffies just like they do humans - they cause sensations of fear and paranoia while still being inaudible. It has a safety warning that humans should not stay in a room with a working infra-sound box. The sound module can be detached and left in the safe room, for prolonged sense of fear in the fluffy, and turned on whenever it is needed. Two for the price of one, I’d say. Still, for its 55 bucks it’s too steep, but abusers love having infra-sound generators in their torture dungeons or whatever is “in” these days in the abuse circles. So, price is not a deterrent for their kind.
The last box of note is the deluxe sorry box - it causes the fluffy to stand on two legs and balance with the forelegs on a wall, while a heater fan blows listerine droplets into the container. There is no smell more revolting to a fluffy than that of the listerine mouthwash. It is guaranteed to make the awkwardly standing fluffy instantly vomit on itself. When you eventually open the box, be prepared to see a fluffy standing up in heated shit and vomit which has made the box into a crap sauna. This also guarantees that the offending fluffy will also experience the joy of bath time, sometimes directly out of the box and into the tub. Very high rating on forums and by customers, and the 25 bucks make this a great choice. You should try to pitch it whenever possible.

Fluffy repellents and poisons is a small shelf here on the back wall, the stuff we got here is not to care for your fluffy, but to take care of the invasive ones. Lest we forget that fluffies are in fact invasive species. We currently offer three main variants, and a few poisons:
Fluff-b-gone defluffer is a fan-favourite - splash some of this vinegar-based solution on a fluffy, and in a matter of mere seconds burning pain shoots down its body, and its fluff will start falling off in clumps, leaving only quickly reddening inflammated tissue. Chances of the fluff growing back are slim, and no fluffy would ever dare come close to you again. Best thing - it leaves them scarred in their minds AND on their bodies, so other fluffies are sure to hear of, and see the effects of coming close to the “fwuff-no-mowe munstah”, a.k.a. you. A minus to this is that it damages grass due to being acidic in nature, try moving the intended victim to a grassless place, such as the walkway.
Bottles of listerine with a free small water pistol as a bonus - not only ensure you have a clean mouth, but also guarantee a fluffy will think twice before coming back to your yard or doorstep.
The third one is a pretty expensive buy, a microwave emitter - goes for $399.99. A bit outdated non-lethal USA-made crowd control weapon scaled down to flashlight size - it sends a microwave beam which gives an intense feeling of burning without causing actual injuries - regardless of how delusional any fluffy, be it a smarty or a normal run-off-the-mill fluffy - this will send it running instantly.
Our poisons are several types, generally variations of rat poison and Fluffycide sprays. Most of the rat poisons come in the two standard variety along with the hazard warning that they are as poisonous to us as they are to fluffies.
The first type of poison is Bromethalin. Generally used for rats, and somewhat toxit to other mammals, but not deadly to humans unless a larger dose is ingested by infants. Still, safety label on this one. It is a type of neurotoxin, which leads to brain swelling, paralysis and death in rats and fluffies alike. Generally kills after a single dose and takes a few hours to kick in. If you have ever seen a fluffy on the street convulsing and saying “nu feew pwetty”, it most likely had Bromethalin for breakfast.
The second type is Coumarin, the good old super deadly anticoagulant-type of poison. Lethal to mammals including humans, birds, you name it. One dose, and two weeks later the fluffy is dead. This poison irreversibly blocks the vitamin K cycle, or in other words, makes the fluffies bleed from every blood vessel. Slow killing ensures it is passed through milk to foals due to its long half-life, and is also spread among herd members. It has a very high safety warning, but seasoned exterminators know where and when to place this for the desired effect. Advise customers against buying this particular unless they are a properly trained exterminator, as seen on the red label above it. Still, it is legally sold everywhere, so we can’t withhold it should the customer insist of purchasing it.
My poison of choice for keeping my yard safe is powdered corn cob pellets. Inexpensive, safe for humans and other animals, yet a nightmare for rodents and fluffies with their inefficient digestive systems - instead of actually poisoning the fluffy, the cob being extremely absorptive swells up the moment it passes to the digestive tract, and starts absorbing all water it comes in contact with. In a few days, the fluffy either dies of severe dehydration, or drowns while trying to sate its unending thirst. Being the gluttons that they are, fluffies will eat multiple pellets, and stash some in their fluff for their family, ensuring mass eradication of families and herds.
And, yes, I used to work as a fluffy exterminator before I got this job.

We also have a shelve with miscellanous stuff, that you should point the customer to. They hardly fit any category, but here are the two most well-known ones that we keep having to restock every week:
Amputee harness - makes a pillowfluff easier to care. Or to turn it into a milkbag at home, but that is just between you and me. Don’t tell the customers that.
Genitalia glue - A glue of questionable ethics, even when talking about fluffies. It allows to glue most of the vagina shut as to prevent pregnancy yet still allow the piss to flow out, or alternatively, to glue the penis shaft inside the sheathe, causing only pain whenever your stallion decides to get down and dirty with it. The pack also contains the specially designed adhesive remover. Both glue and remover are safe for the fluffy, bar any tearing from excessive attempts of using the genitalia. The fluffy healing factor takes care of that, however. Fluffy warranty void if used within the week-long return period.

Here on our right are the medical rooms for our customers’ fluffies. We offer everything, from check-ups through castrations to body modifications. Only for a few dollars, too! Remember to notify them when they are buying their new fluffy. You get a small bonus for every ten people you refer to our vets.

Way to the back, behind that unmarked door, is our euthanasia room.
No matter how attached one grows to a fluffy, the day comes when it either becomes too old, or, as with most cases that come here, the fluffy inevitably does something terminally stupid and hugs most certainly won’t help it.
Now, now, don’t look at me like that, nothing gross inside, this is not the basement. Come on in.
//You enter a small room with rainbow-coloured walls, with a sealed transparent plastic cube on a short pedestal with small ramp leading up to it throgh a small door that can be closed from the outside. The cube is filled to the brim with toys, cushions and plastered with stickers such as smiley faces and child-like drawings. The only thing that denotes its intended use is a small grating coming from the pedestal, and a gas detector alarm up on the ceiling.//
Here it is. Currently standing as the most humane way to let your pet go is this euthanasia room, or as one of our mascot alicorns who you can see roaming the floor every now and then calls it, the “bai-bai woom”. The concept is very simple, and here is the tape of one such event that the person involved allowed us to film for training purposes:
//The HR trainer holds up his tablet for all of you to see, and a short movie starts, showing the owner and his monochrome light brown pegasus stallion, practically ancient to fluffy standards, with white streaks dotting its fluff. It is obvious it is ailing, as it struggles to keep its balance when walking, and stumbles from time to time.//
{Daddeh, wat dat?}“It’s the thing I told you about, Teddy. It will make your sickies go away.”{Yay, tenk yu daddeh! Yu am bestest daddeh EBAH!}“And you are the best fluffy one could hope for, Teddy. You brought me eight whole years of joy, you little ball of fluff!” - says the man, with tears rolling down his face as he hugs his fluffy tightly. “Come on, walk up the ramp, oh? You want me to give you uppies on it? Sure, here we ggOOO!” {Weee!} “Now come into this box here, and play with the toys while the nasty sickes go away.” {Teddy wub toys, yay! You aam bbbestttesssssttttt d-add-hhhhh-----} - the fluffy says, suddenly collapsing, with a smile frozen on its face. The man bursts into tears as he looks at his fluffy’s breaths growing more and more shallow and drawn out, until they seize less than half a minute later. A small hissing sound is heard, and a green light lights up on the ceiling detector.The movie cuts out.//
Well, wasn’t that inspirational! Before any of you start asking what the hell just happened, let me give you one word of advice - argon. Yep, we gas them. You may wonder why not something cheaper, like CO2. Simply put, CO2 triggers in fluffies the same response as in other mammals - the sense of suffocation and panic. And this is not what customers pay us thirty bucks for. Argon is inert and completely odourless. It can kill pigs in about a minute, and a human exposed to argon environment will be dead in under 40 seconds without even realising they are breeding something other than air, thus the detector on top. This ensures no distress - the fluffy never realises it is dying, until it slips into a coma. 100% painless, as advertised. In any case it costs us less than a dollar out of the thirty per fluffy, and whoever is hugboxy or just attached enough to ask for such painless euthanasia, also often opts in for a 60 bucks worth of coffin and obituary. Don’t look at me like that, there are people who do have good fluffies as pets for many years, to them I guess it’s like any other pet dying. Not all fluffies make shitty pets, especially if you treat them as pets and not as members of your family. Rare, but it happens. Not ALL as bad as most people see them. Just, most.

Let’s take a break and move to the breeder area, where things get a bit more interesting, shall we?

Can’t find any more shelter managements. But that last bit seems quite close to what you were talking about


Sorry for the walls of text


I’ve read that one.

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That’s exactly the story I was thinking about with the “Bye Bye Room”. Thanks for finding it.


That last sentence? Hilariously apt. I wasn’t expecting once last wry dig like that.

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I wonder how old Katie will be before she finds out what happened to Frank.

@Pastry_Knight thanks a lot for finding it…turns out it is a pretty good story though quite a bit different than I was thinking. Really awesome you did that though


Lol get fucked Frank


fluffy fun the best place :heart:

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