(I used to post on FluffyBooru and haven’t written a fluffy story in about 5 years. But the old itch came back lol. Enjoy)
(Note this is my first time posting on this website so apologies for any formatting weirdness)
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The inner city ghettos are notorious for being shafted. Lack of education, trash cleaning services and healthcare created a generation of ignorance and the feeling of abandonment. It’s denizens turned to crime for their next meal, often selling drugs to get by and explosions of violence between would be gangs to make a name for themselves.
Of course, no trash pick up meant pests, and no public funding for pest control had another unexpected consequence. But more on that later…
On the corner of 32nd street and Wiliamson Avenue grew up two friends, Money Mac and T-Dogg. Theirs was a classic story of skipping school at 11, slanging crack at 12, stealing at 13, crashing cars at 14 and more than two dozen stints in juvie between them.
Now as adults they were upping their operations. They dominated their local neighbourhood’s endless desire for crack and weed and supplemented their income with extortion, kidnappings, robbery, and the beginnings of a pimping operation using one of Money Mac’s “girlfriends” (and orbit of 5 or 6 women who thought they were his “beau”).
One day they were walking to their crib. Their knuckles were bloody after they showed a rival gang member what happens to punks who step into their neighbour. They were cutting through an alleyway while T-Dogg, knuckles bloodied from the incident, raved in indignation.
“Man fuck these niggas, if I see another one of them I’m going to blow their heads off.”
“Yeah dawg, who the fuck do they think we are?”
“We when get back to crib, I’m loading up my gat and it’s driveby.”
“Whoa whoa chill” said Money holding his friend’s shoulder. “Listen T, we can’t do anything stupid aight? Once that contact we have in Grenada gets back to us, we are going to leave all these busters in the dirt.“
His hot headed friend knew he was right. Once they had their own product import, they could scale up production and nothing could stop them. “It just shits me dawg. Heyo let’s hit up Gim Vandel and get some shawties around. I need to work this energy off.”
Grim was their high school friend turned gangster rapper that was making a name for himself in the local station. Of course almost all his lyrics were inspired by T and Money’s exploits, but his growing fame helped them build connections.
“Sure dawg, let’s get some food first.”
“Hommans habe nummies?”
“Huh? T was that you?”
“No that wasn’t me nigga, what the fuck?”
“Am sowwy nice hooman, fwuwwy just wawnted nummies, fwuwwy hab tummy huwties.”
They looked down. They had walked past a fluffy foal nearby some dirty boxes and foul smelling trash bags. It’s fluff was a very dark shade of brown with a viscous, ugly green mane. Like a lot of ferals it seemed thin, dirty and not long for this world.
“Heeeyo Money” said T in a mocking voice. “This little guy wants to join us for Burger King. Should I get you a side of fries my liege?”
Money winced at the sight. His sister always wanted a fluffy growing up, but getting them from a store was much too expensive and no way was their mother going to let her bring home a disgusting off the street. None of its grotesque appearance was surprising, especially for a neglected street foal and palpable neglect made the bile rise in the back of his throat.
“Man shut yo ass up, don’t talk to these street rats.”
“Hey hey man, maybe I’ll get you some lobster and fois gras fo yo little ass.” T-Dogg dropped his fake smiles. “Get the fuck out of my face.”
“Am sowwy tu bowver u hooman.”
Money took a second, surprised look. He had never heard a fluffy be polite before, as usually they were just begging or acting pathetic towards passersby. Upon closer inspection, there was something different about this fluffy: its eyes.
The look in his eyes was a stoic glare, hardened by his life on the streets, staring down the two men. They had a vibrate orange colouring, almost red, making him seem noble in his own way. It was almost respectable as Money noticed there wasn’t any immaturity or gullibility typical of fluffies, just a keen edge had made for his own survival.
The ribs poking through its skin told Money the little foal must have been very desperate for him to put his life at risk and ask humans for help. This was not a fluffy that had a romantic notion of life on the streets or the generosity of humans. He wondered if a fluffy could feel pride, and if that asking two asshole gangbangers for help wounded it.
Suddenly, there was a rapid shuffling in amongst the trash bags and out burst another fluffy.
“Nyu daddies? Nyu daddies gibe nummies for bestest mummah?”
“Oh shit.”
It was a pastel blue earthie mummah with three foals on her back. On its neck nestled on her pink mane was a fat, chunky foal that looked exactly like its mother, no doubt her favourite, as it was the only one of the foals that seemed to get any decent meals.
The other two were yellow unicorn and a pink pegasus, that were better fed than the tiny brown foal, but not by much. The hungry mother looked up at them with a enthusiastic, but almost practiced, look as she began to beg in full throated earnest the men were used to.
“Nyu daddies! Pwease nuh daddies cab fwuwwy habe nummies?”
“Great,” said Money Mac, internal sighing. This was the typical fluffy act he was used to. “No we ain’t your daddies trash pig, fuck off”.
“Huu huu, bwut-bwut mummah nweed nummies for bestest babbeh! Bestest babbeh needs sketties! Wook, nyu daddehs wub babbeh!” she said, holding up her favourite foal to the men, its fat frame dangling in between her hooves
“I said fuck off!” Money stamped at her, suddenly furious, causing the fluffy to squeak in fear and dropping the foal.
Realising she failed once again at being adopted, she dropped the sweet mother act. “Hu Hu dummie hoomans are meanie to mummah. Mummah am bestest mummah, but nu habe nummies.” She whirled on her neglected brown foal with a fierce glare.
“Dis ab poopie babbehs fawut! Poopie babeh scawre away hooman, su mummah nu have nummies!”
She struck the foal hard across the face, causing him to bleed out of the side of his mouth.
“Yo” muttered T-Dogg “what the fuck are we watching, fluffy Jerry Springer?”
“Poopie babeh!” screamed the larger ‘bestest’ foal. “Ab give huwties fur being poopsies bwuddah!” He beat the brown foal with his tiny hoof, to a chorus of cheers from
His siblings and very proud mummah.
Money winced. What the hell is wrong with this family? Seemed like they would take all their frustration out on this one foal. That strike from the mother look like it really hurt, probably cracking a tooth. But the foal never looked away, never cried, just staring his fat brother down with those same stoic eyes.
The mother turned back to the two men, with the look of a no-more-Mrs-nice-fluffy. “Dummeh hoomans gibe mummah nummies nao! Nu nummies fu poopie babbeh, onwy mummah and bestest babbehs!” ” completely oblivious that this was never an option.
“Gibe nummies and, and” she started to shake with petulantle rage, the stress of street life causing all her emotions to pour out all at once “Gibe skwtties, bestest skwtties! And toysies! And nyu howsy! Gov WIGHT NAO! Ouh mummah gib dummies sowwy hoowsies!”
T-Dogg, who for his part was already having an irritating day and their voices were starting to give him a headache. “Man fuck this, let’s get out of here Money, these things make me sick.”
“Nuu!” said the mare puffing up her cheeks. “Dummeh poopie hooman, gibe bestest nummies na-“
“What the fuck did you just call me?” T-Dogg wheeled around and glared down at the fluffy at the mention of “poop”.
The fluffy dropped their mean look and froze up at the sudden, overwhelmingaggression.
“Dummie, um, hoomans am being poo-“
T-Dogg leaned down and grabbed the fluffy by mane, causing her to wince in pain and forcing her to look into his face, screwed up in rage.
“Did you just say I looked like shit? Are you saying I’m shit? Is that what you just said to me bitch!”
“Yo dawg…these fluffies is racist!” said Money.
Having no idea what they were talking about, the panicked tried to explain herself,that Fluffies say everything they don’t like is “dummeh” and “poopies”.
“Mummwh nu am wacist, hooman am being poo-“ but before she could finish her sentence, T-Dogg booted her hard in the chest, sending her flying backwards into the alley wall. Her babies tumbled off her back to a chorus of “huwties” and “mumstah” while T-Dogg stepped to the sobbing mother.
“I ain’t gonna let no fucking hamster talk shit to me!” He kicked her again, this time hard in the stomach, causing her to instantaneously evacuate both her bowels and lungs in a horrifically strained wheeze. Her eyes bulged in pain as he continued to stomp and kick her.
“Yeah fuck her up T!”
“Y’all think you think you can run your mouth huh?”
“Does this bitch think she can run her mouth?”
STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP
“Tell that fucking bitch what we do to those who dispect us.”
The fluffy quivered in pain. Most of her ribs were broken and she was bleeding in her stomach, causing her spit up blood with each desperate breath.
T-Dogg grabbed her by the throat and hoisted her in the air, slamming her against the wall. He whipped out his gat from his pants and pushed the cold metal against her soft head.
With her eyes focused on the tube of the gun, the fluffy desperately choked out “nu..smelly…sowwie..stick”. She recognised she was likely mistaken, as the smell of gun powder started to flood her nostrils telling her this was not a normal sorry stick.
“She’s a bad momma and a racist, what should I do with her Money? Poopie this and that, man fuck I’m going to rip her skull out through her eyes balls!”
“Man blow her and her fucking runts away T, starting wit-“ Money looked down and was taken back by the scene before him. The little brown foal had taken the oppurtunity to pounce on the bestie babbeh and rip his ear off with his teeth, spraying blood all over both of them.
“SCREEEE nu hwut babeh!” the chunkier foal scream, rolling around on the floor trying to give his own ear ‘bettah hugsies’. The brown foal took advantage of this, rushing to his brother’s face, before proceeding to slam his hooves down with his entire body, trying to cave the soft head in.
Normally ‘sowwy hoofsies’ don’t do much more than psychological damage to fluffies, as getting poked with soft bud with no follow through isn’t exactly painful. Of course, being stomped by your adult mother caused pain and injury, teaching the brown foal what real violence was.
Here the brown foal put those lessons to the test as he used his whole body to slam into the defenseless foal over and over again, to the tune of a desperate “BIGGEST HEAD HUWTIES!” The repeated blows crunched into his head, spraying brain matter through his tiny skull into the alleyway, causing his brother’s cires to gurgle amongst the blood.
SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT
The foal learned that his mother that sowwy hoofsies can be vindictive. They can hurt. And now he learned they can kill.
Money Mac doubled over in laughter. “Yo T check this out.” pointing to foals.
T-Dogg looked back at the spectacle with his mouth agape. “Damn that fluffy kind of gangsta. Yo little man, show that fat ass whose boss.”
The fluffy he had pinned to the wall looked over and squirmed panic. “NUUUUU!” she wailed through bloodied lips, “WEVE BESTIE BABBEH, BESTIE BABBRH NEED HUG” T-Dogg adjusted his grip on her throat and pistol whipped her across the face, causing a shower of teeth to fly out in the other direction.
“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he whipped her again, breaking her nose, before pushing the barrel between her teeth and down her throat causing her to gag “Say another word and I will rip your asshole out feed it to you bitch!”
The brown foal had finished his viscious assault, panting, covered in chunky viscera. The chunky foal’s face and head were caved in, leaking blood into the alley. His body convulsed with a siezure as pieces of bone cut into what was left of his brain stem. The brown foal then turned around and shat all over the brutalised form, mixing it into his wounds, with one remaining eye staring in terror into the sky.
“Nao huu am poopises bwuddah.”
The two remaining foals shivered and huu’d in fear. The brown foal turned to them and stared, his eyes returning to their cold and stoic grimace. The yellow unicorn returned to her senses and scrambled down the alleyway shouting “munstahs!”, before Money Mac grabbed her by the tail and hoisted it in the air.
“Yo where you going little bitch? You don’t want to miss the fun!” he tossed it on the ground next to the brown foal and stomped on its lower half, crushing it.
“SCREEEEEEEEE BABBEHS LEGGIES! BIGGEST HUWTIES!”
Money turned to the brown foal grinning. “Yo little man that was cold. Want to have some more fun?” The brown stepped over his squealing sibling and pushed his head back by the horn, exposing her neck. He leaned down and bit into her throat.
The yellow unicorn screamed “NUUUUU!” as the brown foal shook his head back and forth, desperately trying to break the skin. He pulled, tearing some skin, before sticking his mouth into the hole he made and clamping down on her innards.
The two men howled with laughter at the display, cheering him on. the mother watched sobbing around the gun, watching as her ‘poopeh babbeh’ bite down hard, crunching the unicorn’s windpipe. He ripped out some meat deep in her neck and spat it out, leaving her to choke on her own blood.
The brown foal stepped up to the final pink pegasus, who shivered in a growing pool of its own scardiy poopsies. it was completely unable to move or speak, just staring at the horrible display before it. The brown foal turned away from them and stepped up to the laughing Money Mac.
“Nice hooman?”
Money Mac rubbed a tear out of his eye and tried compose himself. “Oh god, my stomach, dat gave me abs. Haven’t laughed like that in long time!” after a deep breath he said “what is it little man?”
“Nice hooman wike hurting bad babbehs. Does…does nice hooman wan tuwn wit wingie babbeh?”
Money Mac was compeltley taken aback. This little guy had the chance to take a life time of revenge out on his siblings, but he wanted to do this strange human a favour to get in on the fun? A soft spot open in his chest as the foal reminded him of his sister’s kindness when she was younger. To the little foal’s great suprise, Money reached down and gave it a little stroke on his green mane.
“Are you sure little nigger? I can tell how much you are enjoying this and wouldn’t want to ruin your fun.”
“Weww” the foal started, a little shaken by the very first time it had ever recieved affection before. “fwuffy wan to share with nice hoomans cus’ deh hewp fwuffy wit meanie munstah mummah.”
T-Dogg yanked the glock out the mother’s throat. While she sputtered and huu’d, T-Dogg looked at the brown foal. “shiiiet” he said , gesturing with his gun, “now that is one polite little guy.”
“Awso”
“Yeah little guy?” asked Money.”
“Fwuffy am nuh nice hooman can gib biggest huwties. Smarty hooman know huw to make spewcial huwties.”
Money Mac grinned from ear to ear. “Game recognise game lil gangstah”. Surprising the foal once again, picked him in his warm hand. From this angle, Money could see the cracked tooth caused by his mother’s hard strike, the blood mingling with the viscera from his sibling. Money scritched his chin, causing a shiver of joy shake his little body.
“If you say so little man, Papa will gladly give you a demonstration on pain.”
The brown foal’s eyes widened. “Ny…nyu daddeh?”
That same spot in in Money Mac’s chest grew exponentially. “Hell yeah, we’ll be your new daddies.” He pulled out his gat. “Why doesn’t daddy show you how it’s done!”
He leveled the gat to the still trembling foal, turning it sideways as he lined up his shot. The pegasus stared up at the munstah hooman not making a sound, their eyes watering and their tiny form shivered.”
“Night night little nigga.” He pulled the trigger the foal evaporate, it’s entire upper half exploding in all directs leaving behind a pair of legs and huge circle of blood on the floor.
“SCREEEEEEEEE, SCREEEEEEE!” wailed the mother, bloodshot eyes bulging out of her head, shaking in T-Dogg’s hand, her grief at watching her last good child dying made worse by the earpiercng loud sound.
“Man fuck this” T-Dogg tossed her to the other side of the alley. She slammed into the wall and dropped, her broken ribs piercing her lungs causing her incoherent turn into a gurgling mess as she began cough up blood.
T turned to his friend who cardied over the calm brown foal, who acted Like watching a sibling get blown away was the natural thing in the world
“Yo Money that was tight.” he turned to the foal, clocking his gun.”Well little man what do you say, should we give to your moms a send off she deserves?”
The foal gave the very first smile of its short, miserable life, blood dripping from his teeth. A smile born of pure street malice. “Bwow hwer away daddeh.”
“Wooooo k, your the boss little man.” The two levelled their gats like a firing squad. The mare was writhing on the floor but even in the haze of pain was smart enough to realise what was about to happen and desperate for an out.
“Nuu mo worstest huwties, nu *cough cough cough* fovebah sleepies! Wastest babbeh” she begged, looking at her foal “wastest and bestest babbeh wan mummah? Mummah gib Wastest and bestest babbeh gewt dah bestest wub from bestest mummah. Yu am knuw mummah wubs bestest babbeh!”
The men laughed, thinking it was inconceivable she was trying to save her sorry lifr now. Money Mac looked at his little friend to see what he thought of his mother’s begging, who gave him a simple, knowing nod.
“Sorry lady that ship has sailed, he’s ours now. But hey, we’ve got something for you to eat if you are still hungry.”
Even now, her natural greed perked her up to the possiblity of food, piercing through the fog of pain and grief.
“Nummies? Nummies fu bestest mumm-“
“Yeah, EAT LEAD CHICKEN HEAD!”
BANG BANG BANG BANG
“Squeeze it nigga!”
BANG BANG BANG BANG
“Put the chrome in her fucking cranium!”
BANG BANG BANG BANG
“Another motherfucker drop drop drops!”
BANG BANG BANG
The two men unloaded their clips while hooting and hollaring at the top of their lungs. The mare’s scream were a long drawn out wail that could only be heard in between shots. She could feel the hot metal ripping into her delicate flesh, churning up her insides, before spraying out the other side on the wall behind her.
It all came to a merciful end when the top half of her head exploded. All that was left that was recognisable was a leg, part of her belly and teets, and the lower half of her mouth curled into an expression of pure agony.
“Woohoo damn, she’s swiss cheese” said T. “Ohhhh I feel so much better, that’s exactly what I needed.” He turned to their new friend, holding up his fist. Yo little man that was tight, pound it.”
The fluffy punched his fist with his hoof. “Fank yu daddeh.”
“Now what’s your name little man?”
“Meanie mummah nu gib namesies.”
Money Mac’s spat on the floor. “Fucking cunt. We’ll give you a name. What do you think T, what’s going to give our little homie respect with these niggas?”
T-Dogg laughs. “What about rapper’s name? He he iced that dat fuck by caving in his head. What about…Lil Hoof?”
The fluffy snapped his head and hunched his shoudlers, giving T-Dogg a glare. “Am nuffin wittle abut fwuffy or fwuffy’s hoofsies.”
“Hoooowey” T said holding his hands in mock surrender “aight aight, sorry homie, we need to give you something a little more badass.”
“Yeah, and we probably can’t call him something that will sound stupid with his lisp. Hmm, he’s a cold bastard, what about, Ice Cold.”
“Ice Cawd” said the fluffy trying out the name.
“Oooooo not bad, not bad. Still missing something T.”
“Well he’s great at stomping niggas, and he can run these streets if we raise him right.”
“You’re right. What about: Ice King Stomp?”
“Ice King Stomp” said the fluffy, saying the name almost perfectly with only very slight lisp on the “ing”.
The two men cheered, practically jumping up and down and waving their guns around.
“Awwww shit Money, that’s tight! That sent a shiver down my spine.”
“Aight ‘Ice King’, I’m taking you home to my sister. Once she feeds you up, we are putting you to work. Ya dig?”
“Nu worries daddeh, Ice King Stomp weddy tu wun dah stweets.”
The two men were practically sobbing with laughter as they continued down the alley, carrying their latest gang member in their hands, leaving behind the puddles of blood, guts and shit.
—————-
Four years passed since that day. The boys from 32nd Street have stepped up to the plate as the biggest gangsters in the city. Their contact in the Caribbean came through and they were directly running product into the country themselves. After toppling and absorbing the local small time gangs in their neighbourhood, they formalised themselves into the 32nd Kings, complete with a green/orange colour scheme. Using their new found power and influence, they invaded downtown and ran riot.
Their centre of their operations was called Arzenal, the hottest and most lucrative club in the city. In the front were wild nights hosting some of the biggest names that graced the city. Out the back were guns and drugs being processed underground, sold either in the club or shipped all over the city.
One night, their rapper friend Grim Vandel was performing. He had broken into the mainstream with his hit song Heel-Head-Pavement about splattering the brains of rival gang members under your boots. Despite touring all over the country, he never once passed up an opportunity to pay tribute to the Kings at Arzenal.
On this night, the line was all the way around the block, bustling with excitement as patrons passed back and forth joints and liquor bottles, anxious to get in and catch a glimpse of the rapper. The street was completely lit up with heavy lights and the pounding rhythms inside blasted through the walls.
A 6 foot, 8 inch tall heavyset bouncer, so wide and big he cast a looming shadow into the street, was grimly staring down a couple of young guys antsy to get in.
“Come oooon B, let us in! I gotta see mah dawg Grim man!”
The bouncer was barely listening, paying more attention to his headset as he did the street. “Managment says you gotta wait.” he said, while waving in a crowd of beautiful women that skipped the line.
All this lights and noise attracted a large herd of fluffies who had clearly wandered in from a different part of the city, as downtown had a suspiciously lower density of the creatures. It was led by a particular ambitious dull red feral earthie with a pastel blue mane and fierce eyes.
Like most Smarties, his natural aggression was the reason why he was the defacto head of the herd. But as per the average Smarty intelligence, he had a notion that he could find food and shelter anywhere he liked, even this deep into the city. Flanked by a group of his toughies, who themselves were big and mean, he observed the club from afar contemplating his next move.
“Uuuu prettiest lightsies” chirped a foal.
“Hu huu woud nosies am scawwwy” said a timid mare carrying the Smarty’s babies.
“Am nicey hoomans? Hoomans habe nummies?” queried a toughie.
“Nuu hooman cuwd be munstah hoomin.”
“Noisies tu woud, tu many hoomin.”
“Hooman cuwd habe housy, or sketties.”
“Sketties?! Weh am sketties!”
“Pwettiest housey, duh pwetty housey hab sketties?”
The herd babbled amongst themselves, contemplating what the building could contain, before the annoyed Smarty, spun around and snapped at them.
“Dummies! Smawty can nu heaw fwinky pwace wit all dis wacket!”
This shut the herd up, ready to hear his instructions. After composing himself, he began to orate:
“Dah hoomans have pwettiest housy. Knu wat dah means? Dah hoomins habe dah bestiest nummies. Noisies memes dah hoomans ab making bestest housy and sketties.”
The herd gasped in awe of his insight. This brilliant leap of logic excited them to go towards the club, nevermind that they didn’t realise this was just slammed together from their own conversations. Their wise leader, now believing his own hype, stepped up the truck-sized bouncer. Before they had even started to cross the street, the bouncer had already muttered something in his headset.
“Yo what the fuck” said the young man trying to get in earlier.
“Dummeh munstah hooman! Stewp aswide, Smawty needs nummies fur hwerd.”
“Hey don’t skip the line little brother” jeered the young men.
“Be quiet dummeh hoomin” he said, point his hoof in a threatening manner. “Smawty am get toughies to gib u sowwy poopsies!”
“Oh damn dawg, watch out, this nigga‘s got his boys with him. We’s about to get plugged.”
As this (one sided) argument was unfolding, the bouncer stepped aside, temporarily blinding the fluffs as his enormous shadow moved out of the way.
“Right this way sir” he said, gesturing his huge arm out toward the street.
Out stepped a massive dark brown earthie stallion with a vibrant, dark green mane. What was unusual about him, other than his size and the way the monsterous bouncer spoke to him, was that he was wearing dark sunglasses and a shiny 24 carat gold chain around his neck. He calmly strode over over to the herd flanked by two other large brown fluffies who had similair pairs of sunglasses.
“Hey yo the King is here!” shouted the young men, causing a ruckus all across the line, prompting people to cheer and whip out their phones.
The Smarty was taken aback by the reception of the humans in the line. The revered fluff stepped up to the Smarty, looking him over. The brown fluff then looked past the Smarty and his goons and spotted a young pegasus, just past filly age, but hasn’t yet had a “specwual huggies, with a pastel yellow coat and red mane. He rudely brushed past the Smarty and the mare perked up as he stared her down behind his dark glasses
“Hewwo der pwetty yung fing” said the brown fluff in an almost sultry tone. “Wah am shawty namesis? Shawty wook as sweet as cawndy nummies, and twice as pwetty.”
The mare shuffled, practically blushing under the compliments, something she never experienced before amongst the rough life of a feral. The Smawty was beside himself. Who the hell was this poop coloured fluffy, why the hell was he talking to one of his potential special friends and where the hell were the sketties! He puffed his cheeks up.
“Heyw! Poopie fwuffy nu am tawk tu Smawty’s mawe! Toughies mawk poopie go foevab sweepi-“
“WHAT DID YU SAWY POOPAAAAH!” spat the big fluffy, whirling around and getting right in the Smarty’s face. “Dah King wiw bwury yu sowwy awse swix fweet undah, not bewfo enffing yo skull poopah!”
The Smarty shut right up. The bigger fluff was practically spitting as he continued his verbal assault. “Am dummeh bwitch awse poopah deawf? Tawk u and ur fawgot awse touwghies bawk tu yo hwood, ya dig? Weave dees bwitches fu dah King!”
“Yeah get his ass King!” cheered the crowd.
“Yu enfing wit Ice King Stomp, yu fixwing tu habe Stomp’s hoofises ramed up yu poopie place and ouwt yu empty awse fwinky pwace! Hwat dummeh gonna dw, hwat dummeh gonna dw!”
This was of course Ice King Stomp. After being adopted by his daddies, and being fed up by various women in Money Mac’s life, he became an unofficial mascot for the 32nd Kings. The men got a kick out of taking the fluffy in their pocket on drive-by shootings, having him shit in the mouths of their extortion targets or people who didn’t pay on time, taunting rival gang members with his lisp before they get plugged, and providing endless entertainment by brutally killing annoying ferals in their community, acting as a one fluffy pest controller.
It was practically a community service, culling the streets from hapless fluffies wandering into him and his “cwew”. The rest of the gang tolerated and later celebrated Ice King Stomp, as he became the first ever ‘gangsta’ fluffy. After all, when have you ever seen a fluffy rip another fluffy’s asshole out and feed it to them? He grew up tough, viscous and adopted the same hard edge approach to his fellow kind that his fathers expressed to the rest of the city.
The herd was utterly stunned by the tirade of abuse. They were used to deferring to loud or belligerent fluffies, but this was on another level. The Smarty’s jaw dropped trying to keep up with what Ice King was saying. The huge brown fluff leaned further into his interlocutor’s face, causing his sunglasses to slip down his nose.
The hapless Smarty could see that Stomp’s pupils were so heavily dilated, they nearly eclipsed the blazing orange colour. He could hear the fluffy sucking on something, one of his daddy’s “Gangster Nummies”, which was only elevating his aggression.
“Yu scawed ain’t ya bwitch poopah?” the King growled, dropping his voice to a menacing drone “Stomp can smeww da bitch on yu! *sniff sniff* oh yu smeww dat? Dat smewws wik vinwtage bwitch.”
As a Smarty, he would not easily back down to aggression, but the extremity of the abuse and the new li go left him utterly stunned.
“Po..poopah?” said the Smarty confused. He knew what poopises was, that was built into his internal vocabulary. Poopah was something that was clearly bad, but wasn’t the same in his little mind. Was it a description? An adverb?
Fluffies typically couldn’t swear due to their hardwiring, especially when there was an inbuilt dictionary equivalent. Hence the use of a fluffy derogatory phrase that sounds just like his daddy’s favourite word, starting with N and rhyming with “poopah”. “Ass” “faggot” and “bitch” are technically neutral depending on context and his daddies were obviously not particular about policing no-no words.
“Yus yu, am dummeh deawf?” he shouted. “Ice King tawking tu yu, yu bwitch awse, fawgot awse, punk awse, speciaw pwace awse, bwitch awse, poopah!”
“Poopah…am namsies?” said the Smarty, looking down in deep reflection. “Habe nyu namesies? Does Smawty wik nyu namesies?”
Just as he was starting to roll this possibility around in his mind, the bigger fluffy bucked up and brought a hoof hard down on the Smarty’s open mouth, snapping his lower jaw clean off, causing it to hang over his pudgy neck like a pink, morbid bib. Before the fluffy even had a chance to register the pain, the gangster fluffy then brought another hoof down on his opponent’s front leg, breaking his kneecap and causing the bone to shoot through the delicate skin. This caused the Smarty to collapse forward dripping the gushing blood from his mouth all over the floor, writhing in pain with and trying to ‘hug’ his useless leg.
The herd collectively cried out in fear at the sudden burst in violence, screaming in terror but far too scared to run. The crowd of onlookers had the opposite reaction, letting out a loud cheer, cackling loudly and smashing bottles in praise. The massive brown fluffy leaned down to taunt the gurgling Smarty.
“Oh yeh! wook at yu! Yu was poppin’ aww dat good poopies a second agu, then yu got popped in yu moufsie! Yu eat a no-no stick poopah, yu eat a no-no stick!”
“Gghhhhhhhhheeeee!” gurgled the Smarty, his cries of pain articulate as his tongue waggled in his permanently opened jaw.
The King walked past the prone, shuddering form and stepped up to the biggest tougher, a rust coloured unicorn. Normally a unrepentant bully and rapist in the herd, he was shivering in place. Despite being nearly half a head shorter, the brown fluffy seemed to loom over him.
“Ay dummeh” said the King. “Yu weppin wit dis fawgot’s cwew. huh? Dummeh fawgot nu ebav hewd of Ice King Stomp befor?”
“Hu hu, nu am…f-fwuwwy nu wan weppin” muttered the toughie, scared out of his mind and didn’t have the foggiest idea waht “repping” meant. “P-p-pwease nu gib sowwie hoffises.”
“Dis cwew ist pawethic! Dis poopah cab bawly twak! King Stomp show yu how tu rwun dees stweets.” He turned to his toughies. “Gunswoke, Huswler, rip dis fawgot a nyu poopie place.”
His own two brown toughies surrounded the shivering giant. Hustler grappled him by the horn, stunning the fluffy from the pain, before dragging him to the ground. While being held in place, Gunsmoke stomped on his legs, testicles and guts. This made the herd scream again in fear prompted the viscious gangster fluffy to whirl on them.
“Shyut yo awses uyp! Yu am Ice King Stomp’s hwerd nao, ya diwg. Yo” he turned to the quiver forming Smarty, gurgling on the floor, and then rubbing his head into the concerted with his hoof.
“Yu hwear me? Wat am fwuffies namesies?”
“Gggghhhhhhh!”
“‘Ggghh’ ain’t fwuffies namesies, fwuffies daddeh’s didn’t name fwuffy ‘gggghhhh’, wat am namesies poopah?”
“Ggggghhhhh!”
The remaining toughie, a dark blue stallion, meekly offered up a response to try and save his former leader from the pain. “Mu-munstah fwuffy’s namesies i-I-is Iwce Kiwgh Stowmpsies” he said, struggling to complete the full name.
“DING DING DING dats wight poopah” said the King, turning his back to bleeding Smarty. “A fwuwwy wit hawf a finking pwace, unwike dis poopah.” The King proceeded to unceremoniously fire a steaming pile of shit all over prone fluffies face, causing his horrible wails to gurgle harder, like loud speaker suddenly dunked under a layer of oil.
The line cheered, now much more interested in the spectacle than getting inside. The King stepped up to the remaining toughie.
“Yu am nu as dummeh as oder poopah” he muttered in a menacing drone. “Wet King Stomp guess/ Yu nu wan’ forebeah sweepsies?”
The terrified fluff nodded vigorously.
“Das smawty choices. Yu wan be a smawty an wiv, poopah?”
The fluffy nodded again, desperate to hear how he would survive another day
Yu am gonna tawk dat sowwy fing u caww a no-no stick an enf dat fawgot.” he said, gesturing to the shit coveted Smarty.
The stallion’s eyes widened in horror at the downright unnatural request. “Hu hu, nu cab gib spewcial huggies Smawty, Smawty nu am spewcial fwend nu-“ his whining was interrupted when the King wacked him across the face with the back of his hoof, like a backhand slap.
“Shyut yu goowfy awse up poopah! If fwuffy nu enf dat Smawty, King Stomp am gonna enf yu in dah boowty. King Stomp am dah boowty wawwiow. Gettin boowty am mow impowtant dan nummies. Mow impowant dan watah. Nao we can du dis dah eazy whay or dah hawd way.”
The fluffy gave a disgusting shiver. He had no idea what “booty” was but if what this monster fluffy was saying was true, he was planning on raping him just like he and the Smarty used to do mares in the herd. And the look in the bigger fluffy’s eye told him that he meant it.
“Nu wan…specwal…huggies” he said, tears in his eyes, as he waddled to his former commander. The gurgling took on a panicked tone as the Smarty was unable to shake off the fluffy mounting his body. In his haste to fulfil the command given to him, the fluffy didn’t waste time mounting the rear of the Smarty, instead approaching him from the front.
The sobbing fluffy pushed hips around until he found the former Smarty’s throat, uninhabited by his lack of a jaw, and thrust as hard as he could. The terrified fluffy’s no-no stick jammed into the oesophagus, pushing blood and shit further in the hole, making the Smarty gag and splutter, even more desperate for air.
“Oh shit dawg” cried something in the line. “He’s skull fucking that bitch that got stomped out.” The whole lined cheered and jeered causing the fluffy to sob even more. The Smarty’s eyes rolled in the back of his head as he struggled to gasp for air in between thrusts. The horror of the scene made the herd panic, but the loud shouts and the aura of the gangster fluffy illcited fearful “hus”, preventing them from fleeing.
“Eww that’s disgusting!”
“Huu scawies. Y am enfies, Smarty nu am mawe.”
“Make him yo bitch dawg!”
“Dats wight, enf dat fagot. Enf!”
As the sobs turned into strangled “enf enf enfs” the Smarty’s gurgles became further and further apart as he began to suffocate. His rapist began pumping harder and harder, desperate to finish and escape from the humilating hoops and hollers of the crowd.
Closing his eyes, he focused on the warm feeling of blood, spit and other material jammed into the impromptu fuck hole. He grit his teeth and with enough and he was finally able to meet a desperate a shameful-
“End enf enf enf, GOOD FEWIES!” shouted out to the roar of the crowd.
The fluffy collapsed on the corpse of his former commander-cum-sex toy, gasping for air and his heart racing with pleasure and fear. The Smarty had already choked and died, his eyes glassy and strained, revealing the horror that he had experienced.
The fluffies no-noo stick softened, dripping blood and semen from the throat pooling around the dead Smarty’s head. The panting fluffy turned to Ice King with tears in his eyes.
“Cab” he choked out. “Cab toughie com bak tu hwerd?”
The brown monster fluffy leaned into his ear and spoke with disgusted venom.
“Nu wan’ nu fagot fwuffy in dah hwerd.” the King whispered.
Realising he was tricked and humiliated, the stallion slumped down even more as Ice King turned his back. “Hu hu fwuffy fwew sickies, no-no stick am-“ but his monologuing was cut short when the King slammed his back hooves in the side of his head, spraying the stallion’s brains out the other side and killing him instantly. The entire line cheered while the herd continued to look on in horror.
“Nu dah fagot fwuffies tawken cawe of, hwerd gu inside dah cwub. Yu am get VIP access ya diwg?” He turned to the young mare from before and scooted next to her, giving her a seductive side eye. “Com on shawty, yu am gowwna be dah Ice King’s gwirl.”
His brown ‘crew’ members, having beaten the remaining toughie to death, began herding the ferals like sheep dogs, barking orders at the rear. The herd largely complied, now deferring to the biggest and most assertive fluffy, and watched in awe as the gigantic bouncer stepped aside to let them in, much to the amusement (and chargin) of the crowded line.
“Wat am VIP? Is dat spewcial housy?”
“VIP get nummies? Nummies tu mawk milkies?”
“Huu huu what am noisiy? Gib ear huwties.”
The were led down a corridor that ran parallel to the club, with the music pumping loudly to their right. Ice King scooted up next to the pretty mare, whose fear had taken a backseat to pure admiration. This new Smarty was nice to her, and much tougher than the old one. Would they be special friend? Maybe even have babies and nummies?
As they contiuned on, they were led through a door leading to a big, bright room. Dozens of gangbangers dressed in varying different green outfits stood around stainless steel benches, working in guns, packaging bags of product and counting cash. It was the headquarters of Arzenal, and the core of the 32nd King’s operation. Over walked the Stomp’s daddy, T-Dogg.
“Yo King, next friends of yours?” said T-Dogg, himself grown bigger, meaner and dripped out a fine suit with a 24 carat chain.
“Dey awe daddeh, King Stomp gib dem dah VIP tweatment.”
He flashed a toothy, evil grin before opening a door for the fluffs. “Well aren’t you lucky. You little guys are going to meet uncle Grim Vandel. In you go.”
“Into da safe woom ya diwg.”
The fluffy herd was still shocked by the sudden whirl of a events, but the promise of home and a seemingly friendly daddy perked them up enough to flood inside.
The fluffy herd wandered into the “safe room”: a large empty white room with a number cut out windows that gangsters could see in. At the other end were metal poles holding paper with patterns and numbers that the fluffies couldn’t interpret other than they were vaguely resembled the shape of a human body. Random strange smelling stains were the only markers on the floor. The herd’s enthusiasm waned when they saw the sparseness of the room.
“Wew am towsies?”
“Whu am Gwim Wandel?”
“Hu hu fwuffy need witter bawks or make bad poopsies. Daddeh? Wew daddeh go?”
King Stomp laid an arm almost seductively over his chosen mare, stopping her from going in. “Nu shawty, yu nu housie is Ice King Stomp’s cwib.”
“Shawty?” she perked up in confusion and butterflies in her belly. “Shawty am…nuu namesies?”
“It cab be” he purred in her ear, “if shawty wet King howwah at shawty.”
T-Dogg locked the majority of herd in the safe room before leading King and his entourage into a seperate room.
Instead of a big, blank, white room with white tiles and florescent lights, this was a massive carpeted play pen. The room was filled with gaudy club lighting with panels strips of gold along the walls. Hip hop music blasted through loudspeakers into time with the shifting lights. On one wall was a row of satin sheet beds holding at least half a dozen mares in varying states of pregnancy, nursing and weaning their babies.
The plush centre featured various fluffies, some of them whooping and dancing in time to the music, while one thin looking mare was shaking near the front door. Hordes of largely brown foals were playing in a padded jungle gym. The play was notably rough, with tackling, biting and group bashings.
At the very end the room Ice King’s “crew” of toughies, were sitting on a massive velvet couch spread. They almost entirely consisted of his children that he moulded into his own violent image. As they watched Scarface blasting through a 150 inch screen tv, one of them leaned over and sucked deep from a vapourisor, blowing into the air before sighing, saying “dis town an one big specwial pwace, waiting tu be enf’ed.”
The new fledgling mare gawked at the scene, overwhelmed by the sounds and lights. King Stomp walked over to a device that he activated with his hoof and took a deep inhale of a vaporiser, blowing a massive white cloud into the air.
“Hew shawty, tawk a hit oh diss, nummie air take dah edge off.”
The mare tentatively stepped to the mouth piece and inhaled the vapour. Instantly she began coughing as the smoke, far too hot and thick for an uninitated fluffy, overwhelmed her delicate insides.
“*cough* SCR- *cough cough* BUWNY HUW*cough* HUW*cough cough cough*!” she choked out, nose dripping, eyes watering, already turning red from the massive dose of THC hitting her system.
The King turned to his toughies. “Get nyu shawty comfowtable whil Ice King Stomp sees Uncle Gwim.” The sickly looking mare, whose formerly beautiful pink coat had faded and patched in places, shivered in indignation (and withdrawal symptoms).
“Hu Hu nu habe nyu shawties. Ice King Stomp daddeh nu hab tu many spewcial fwend and nu enough gangstah nummie- EEHP!“ the King interrupted her with a slap across the face with back of his hoof.
“Shuwt it, dummeh wan though mware” snapped the King. “Dah King enf who-ebah King wants, and dah King wants a fine yung shawty, not yo sowwy used up awse.”
She shook uncontrollably under tide of abuse. “Nu gib mawe back hoofsies! King Stwmp am meanie munstah fwuwwy.” He smacked her again to shut her up.
“Dats it.” He turned to his toughies. “Gunsmoke, cut mawe off. Nu mow gangstah nummies fur dummeh biwtch mawre.”
Her eyes bulged out of her head, all other concerns long gone at the prospect of being cut off from her supply. She lunged at King Stomp in a sudden panic while the toughies tried to restrain her. “NUUUU! NUU, NU TAKE GANSGTA NUMMIES! FWUWWY NEED, FWUWWY NEEEEED! NU CAB STAND EMPTY HUWTIES ABYMORE! FWUWWY DU ANYFING!!”
She was screaming at the top of her lungs while the toughies, one of whom evidentially was a grandchild of hers, held her downbeat her up in one of the beds, to the chirps and the jeers of the rambunctious older foals. The new mare stared at the spectacle, unable to fully comprehend the horror as she became more and more stoned.
Still bleary eyed and steadly reaching a full blown green out, she looked at Ice King Stomp strolled out of his dominion, giving her a smack on the ass with his hoof.
“EEP!”
“Sit tight pwetty mawre, dah King will be wit yu soon.”
He walked out to a corridor where a huge number of 32nd Street gangbangers had gathered. Along one wall were some windows looking into a gun range with a number of human shaped targets guarding the other end. He was greeted his daddies, Money Mac and T-Dogg, both dressed to the nines.
“Hey hey big man” Money said, tossing the fluffy a small white bauble of “gangster nummies”. The King caught mid air in his jaws, sucking greedily. “Just in time, the guest of honour is here.”
Another ten or so security guards stepped into the hallway surrounding the guest of honour: Grim Vandel. He wore a fuzzy purple top hat nearly as long as his torso with a leopard print rim, a massive pimp jacket with a fur trim, rings covering every segment of his hands and 7 different gold chains, with a big functional clock right in the centre.
Grim stepped up to the gun range window and hugged the two crime lords. He then leaned down to pat the mane of his “nephew”.
“Hey there my little brothah” Grim said in his soft, commanding drawl. “Ready to party tonight wit cho uncle Grim?”
“King Stomp hab pwesswnt foh uncwle Gwim.”
“Oh I think I see that.” he chuckled, lifting the fluffy up and placing him on the windowsill. Inside was the safe room where the fluffy herd was staying, milling around and highly confused at the massive group of people converging on the windows. Their endless prattle only heightened at the sight of the ostentatious rapper
“Pwetty shiny necksies!”
“Mummahs wub babbehs, babbehs wub mummah.”
“Nice hoomins hab toysies?”
“Du *sniff* du VIP get nummies? Hu huu *sniff* fwuffy hab tummy huwties, and babbeh newd miwkies.”
“King, you really shouldn’t have.” said Grim said, scratching the brown fluff again. He clicked his fingers and his attendants brought two uzis over with modified clips. He held akimbo towards the technicolour tide.
“Nice hoomins be nyu daddeh?”
“Sowwy nyu daddeh, babbeh did bad poopsies, buwt am owny whittle babbeh.”
“Wuv nyu safeh rwoom!”
“*sniff* nyu daddeh…gib skettis? Need sketties tu make miwk-“
BRRRRRRRRRR BRR BRR BRRRRRRRRRRR BRRRRRRR BRRR BRRR BRRR BRRRRR BRR BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR BRRRR BRRRRRR
Instantly dozens of rounds ripped into the horde of fluffies. Bullets slammed into their soft forms spraying guts and shit all over the survivors. Heads exploded, ribs shattered, lungs and stomachs coated family members, foals disappeared into clouds of red mist, blood spraying upwards to the ceiling, blood coating the walls, blood running hot and fast onto the floor.
The survivors of the initial volley could barely begin to run before the guns turned on them, mangling the different coloured bodies into red and black mushes. Those that could waddle far enough, fast enough, were cut down causing further panic as death spread far, fast and hard. Their screams couldn’t be heard over the sounds of the guns, and their senses were overwhelmed with pure and utter carnage. And at its source was a large shiny man, sparkly with every ear piercing sound, offering no mercy.
The gun’s clicked as Grim reaches the end of the clips. The white room had turned into a tidal wave of red with puffs of fluff floating at the surface. What few foals survived were quickly drowning in the blood and shit of their parents. There were no surviving adults save one, who was rapidly bleeding from a hole in his throat, thanks to the fact his voice box was splattered on the wall behind him.
The rapper blew the smoke away satisfied puff, his stoic face not betraying the pure glee behind his sunglasses. He tossed the uzis down and picked up the brown fluffy affectionately.
“Arzenal has once again outdone its hospitality. Now what do you say little brother, ready to start this show?”
“Lets blow dah woof off”
Grim Vandel carried the King on his shoulders as the crowd of security led him into the club proper. The music reached a crescendo as he stepped up on stage, to the shining lights nearly blinding both of them. The crowd went ballistic, and all the energy was directed to the front of house. The rapper he nearest microphone and screamed -
“ARZENAL! ARE YOU READY?”
The crowd exploded with joy, chanting “KING KING KING KING”. The rapper put the microphone to the fluffy’s lips, who began:
Maby fwuff, wish foebah sweepies on me
Blud in fwuffy’s eye dawg, fwuffy cabt see
Fwuffy twyin to be wat fwuwwy destwined to be
And poopahs tryin’ tawk my wife abway
I pwut a howsies in a fwuffy whu enfing wit me
Fwuffy’s bawck tu dah waww, now yu gon’ see
Betteh wawtch how yu tawk when yu tawk about fwuffy
Cause King Stomp wiw tawk yur wife abway
Maby fwuff,
Maby maby maby fwuff,
Wish foebah sweepies on me
