Good Daddeh chapter 3, by Swindle

You’re Rock. You’re a feral fluffy stallion. You live in a very nice den with your special friend, Dusty, and your five babies. You have two colts, blue and black, and three fillies, orange, yellow, and a very poofy pink with stubby legs.

You got bad hurties from a birdie-munsta and a bawkie-munsta a while ago, but you’ve healed up since then. Dusty says your scars make you look tough (you were a toughie in your old herd, so you appreciate the compliment), though you sort of wish your fluff had grown back properly on your shoulder.

You’re very proud of what you’ve accomplished; despite some serious hardships, you’ve kept your family intact and safe. Your babies don’t even seem to realize that Dusty isn’t their real mummah; they were too little when you rescued them from their real mummah (she was the worstest mummah and a bad fluffy). You like Dusty; she’s a good mummah to your babies and loves them like they were really hers.

You’re also proud of your babies; all are growing up big and strong, and except for the orange filly they’ve all started trying big fluffy nummies. Your pink filly concerns you a little, with her short, stubby legs; she has a harder time running, jumping, and playing, and she was the slowest when your family had to run from the bawkie-munsta. Your blue colt also concerns you; the birdie-munsta tried to have him for nummies the first time Dusty led him out of the den, and the bawkie-munsta attacked the second time. Now he’s afraid to leave the den again and always cries about monsters whenever you or Dusty try to coax him outside. Even when Dusty leads all his sisters and brother outside to play and explore, he stays in the nestie and cries. You’ve tried teaching him to be a toughie like you, and he wrestles with his brother just fine, but he’s still scared to leave.

You’re not too concerned, though. He has to leave eventually. At worst, he’ll have to go outside to find nummies when he gets too big for miwkies and Dusty starts pushing him away.

Right now he’s hiding in the den and crying because he’s all alone. You can hear him huuhuuing from here, while you watch your other babies explore the grassy area outside the den. Dusty shouts encouragement or runs over and nudges babies in the right direction if they start wandering too far. Looks like the yellow and black babies are trying grassies again. The pink baby is trying to tell the orange baby that grassies are good nummies, but she refuses to try any still. Dusty smiles tolerantly; she has a while yet before she has to start eating grassies for real, so it’s ok if she wants mummah’s miwkies and nothing else. For now.

Dusty suddenly spots the blue colt sticking his head out of the den trots over to greet him, smiling. He chirps, something he’s a little too old for but you’re not in any hurry to make him grow up, and waddles out to meet his mummah, who hugs him and tells him what a brave baby he is. You keep a close eye on the others, trying not to let them see how proud you are of the blue baby for overcoming his fear of the outside. Don’t want to make them jealous or think you play favorites, after all; their real mummah played favorites with the babies and that ended disastrously.

Oop! The orange baby is wandering too far from the others! Dusty has her back to her and is still fussing over the blue baby. You get up and trot easily to intercept the baby and guide her back to the others with a stern warning. Just because daddeh fought off the last two munstas doesn’t mean he’ll always be able to do it.

Almost as if the universe brought it into being simply to spite you at the most ironic moment, something enormous stepped out from behind the bushes near the orange baby. She looked up, up, UP and it was so tall she plunked down on her bottom and craned her head up to see the top of it towering over her. She squeaked in awe.

That was the wrong thing to do. It drew the monster’s attention. You knew this was the most dangerous and threatening monster of them all: hoomin.

You fought other fluffies, including big, strong toughies. You’ve given two fluffies forever sleepies, one was even intentional. You fought off a birdie-munsta, though it hurt you badly. You fought off a bawkie-munsta a little bigger than you (you’ve seen bigger though, and you knew that realistically you stood little to no chance against the small one).

But you have no chance of fighting this thing at all. You know that. Your old smarty provoked several hoomins, and there was absolutely nothing the herd could do to defend themselves once they’d drawn a hoomins wrath. Many took the longest sleepies. You once saw a rival herd get annihilated by an angry hoomin; when the only fluffies left were a mummah and some chirpie babies, he started to leave… until a baby chirped and he realized they were still alive.

They weren’t recognizable as fluffies when he finished with them.

You make scaredy peepees and sprint for your orange baby. You’re too late; it has her.

“Eeeeek! Scawy upsies! Nu wike! Mummah!”

Dusty sees what’s going on and screams for the babies to come to her. You keep running, stopping at what you hope is just out of the monster’s range for attacking you. You know you have absolutely no chance of fighting it or scaring it.

Your only hope lies in appealing to its good nature.

Yes, that thought utterly destroys any hope you have. You still try anyway. Your baby’s life depends on it.

“Hewwo, nice mista! Babbeh scawed, nu wike upsies. Pwease gif babbeh tu Wock?”

The creature ignores you, examining your baby closely, twisting her this way and that. She protests the rough treatment and he squeezes her, making her cry and whimper.

“Pwease, nice mista! Dat too wough! Widdwe babbeh am dewicate! Pwease nu huwties! Babbeh nee hew mummah; pwease gif babbeh back?”

The monster turns its head to you and you shake in terror; it has the eyes of a killer.


“Um… Pwease gif babbeh back? Babbeh am gud babbeh.”

“I said no.”

Ok, try a different approach. You look at your crying baby, willing her to stay safe with all your might.

“Nice mista, babbeh haf bad tummeh owies. Babbeh nee miwkies. Gif babbeh back tu mummah so she haf miwkies? Wock… Wock stay hewe wif yoo.”

Appealing to his kinder nature and offering yourself in exchange for the baby. You don’t care if the monster hurts you, so long as your baby is safe.

“No. This is my baby now. Come here.”

You’re scared, more scared than you’ve ever been in your entire life, but your baby’s life is on the line. Trembling, you take a few steps forward.

“Nice mista, pwease gif back babbeh? Babbeh scawed.”

“You too. Come here, all of you.”

You look in the direction he’s looking and see Dusty standing there, tears in her eyes, with the other babies on her back. Your blue baby has made scaredy poopies in his mummah’s fluff, and you can’t blame him. It’s not fair that something like this happens every time he leaves the den. Not fair at all. You turn back to the monster and keep talking politely to him.

“Nice mista wan pway wif fwuffies?”

“Yeah, that’s it. I wanna play with you.”

The way he smiles gives you chills and you realize there is no way to negotiate with this thing. It is malicious and evil, and it is far too powerful; you have no power over it, nothing you can threaten it with, and nothing to offer it.


“Pwease, nice mista. Widdwe babbeh nee miwkies. Take Wock. Wock gu wif nice mista if wet babbeh gu.”

It grabs one of your baby’s leggies and begins twisting.

“EEEEEEEEEEE! Mummah! Owies! Weggie huwties! Babbeh scawed! Hewp!”

“You come here, all of you, RIGHT. NOW.”

It means to harm your entire family. You stare in horror at the monster and realize there is no way out of this. Not intact. Not whole.

You scream, “WUN!” at Dusty and she obediently runs away toward the den, sure you have some plan to save the orange baby.

You don’t. You can’t. All you can do… is cut your losses and save the rest of your family.

“Hey! Get back here, you little shits!”

“SCREEEEEEEEE! OWIES! Huuhuu, why huwt babbeh? Daddeh, safe babbeh! Safe babbeh, pwease!”

Tears in your eyes, you look your orange baby in the eye and tell her, “Sowwy babbeh. Daddeh wuvs yoo vewy, vewy much.”

Then you run.


“Daddeh! Nuuuu! Why weave babbeh?!”

You hear the hoomin’s thundering footsteps chasing after you, THUMP THUMP THUMP, feel them in your hoofsies, but you’re small enough to duck under the bushes that the hoomin has to go around.

The monster catches up anyway and tries to grab your tail, but you slide under the bush just in time and run down into the den.

Dusty is hugging the other babies and looks at you, relieved… then notices you’re alone.

“Whewe babbeh?!”

“EEEEEEEEEEEE! Mummah! Daddeh! Hewp babbeh! Huwties! Huuhuuhuuu… chirp!”

“You shit rats come out of there RIGHT NOW, or I swear I’m gonna snap this little orange turd’s neck! You got until the count of three!”

You hug your family, trying not to sob, trying to stay strong for them, while Dusty says reassuring things to the crying babies. She’s panicking herself and the babies are not calming down at all.


“OWIES! WOWSTEST HUWTIES! Huuhuuhuuuu! Chirp! Chirp!”


“Hewp! Safe babbeh! Pwease!”

Dusty tries to run out of the den, you tackle her and pin her down.


“Why famiwy nu safe babbeh? Babbeh bad babbeh? Chirp! Huuu…”

“Time’s up.”

“Pwease, nu huwt ba- EEEEEEEEEE! Mummah! Mummah! MUMMAAAAAA-”

The sudden silence is infinitely more horrifying than your baby’s tortured screaming. You sob aloud. Your pretty orange filly is gone forever. You know she is.

You left her to die.

You’re the worstest daddeh ever.

Then Dusty and the babies all scream and back up against the far wall of the den. You look and it’s dark for some reason- oh no. It’s dark because the hoomin is blocking the entrance to the den.

Then he reaches a long, long, LONG leggie inside and starts feeling around with his not-hoofsie. You realize with horror that he intends to grab your family one by one, drag them outside, and give them forever sleepies like your orange baby.

And his reach is just long enough to do it.

No. No. NO. Nonononononononononono!

You snarl, puffing your cheeks in righteous rage, and attack.

You grab the hoomin monster’s littlest finger with your teefies and bite down as hard as you can. You even kick yourself in the jaw with your front leggies to add more force to your bite. You hear the human yelp and then his not-hoofsie twists around and grabs you by your belly fluff! He has you!

You’re ready to die. But only if it saves your family. You grind your teefies as hard as you can and shake your head violently; the hoomin’s booboo juice tastes disgusting, alien. You hear it scream in rage and it jerks its hand out of the den, thumping you painfully against one wall and knocking you off. There’s still something in your mouth, and you spit it out, realizing with revulsion that it’s a piece of the hoomin’s skin.


You… think you understand what it just said. It already intended to give you and your family forever sleepies, so you’re not sure why it felt that this act of defiance had in some way earned that.

Dusty and the babies scream again and the stench of scaredy poopies fills the den as the hoomin reaches in again, grabbing around for you blindly. You can’t risk biting it again; if it grabs you a second time, it will pull you out and hurt you like it hurt your baby. Then it will do the same to your family, one by one, until there are none left.

You take the only option left to you: you turn around and spray sorry poopies on it.

“OH, WHAT THE FUCK! THAT BURNS! DAMMIT! Now I’ve got fucking fluffy shit in an open fucking wound! You’re gonna pay for this, you fucking vermin! I’ll be back!”

You hear the hoomin thump off, still screaming angrily but sounding farther and farther away. Dusty is too scared to say anything reassuring to the babies, shaking and hugging them too tight. All four babies are crying uncontrollably. You hug your family, wishing the scaredies and the heart hurties would go away. But they don’t.

Finally, after it’s been quiet for a while, you whisper for Dusty to stay with the babies and creep cautiously toward the entrance to the den. You’re certain she has no intention of moving from that spot for a while, but you tell her anyway, just in case.

You listen carefully, hoping to hear if the monster is lurking outside; this is complicated by the sobs and whines coming from your family behind you. But you don’t hear any loud hoomin noises, so you slowly creep forward and carefully stick your head out of the den.

You see nothing. All you hear is your family crying in terror. Slowly, painfully slowly, you crawl out from under the bush, shaking, looking everywhere, certain the hoomin monster is hiding just out of sight and intends to grab you as soon as you come out. But nothing happens.

Finally, you emerge completely and look around. Everything is the same as it was before. Quiet. Peaceful.

You walk a little ways from the bush hiding your den and almost trip over it.

Your orange baby.

Now just a sad, misshapen lump of orange fuzz. All four leggies are bent in the wrong places. Her head is dangling at an impossible angle, eyes staring at nothing, mouth open in a silent scream for help that never came.

Your wrap her little body in your front leggies and hug what’s left of her and wail in sorrow.

Your baby. Your beautiful little baby.

You’ve seen stallions who didn’t care at all about their babies, or even acknowledge that they existed. Many abandoned them before they were even born. You’ve seen mummahs who didn’t get too upset when they lost one, two, even three babies. They were sad, sure, but they knew there would be more babies later. It’s a sad fact of life that fluffy babies are lost all the time.

It’s just one baby.

Your entire world has been destroyed.

You thought you could take care of them. You thought you could keep them safe. You thought you were big and strong and tough.

You ran away and left your poor little baby to die alone in the hands of a horrible monster. You abandoned her. You let her get forever sleepies.

You hug the broken little body to your chest and wail as your heart breaks.


Fucking human fucker! :face_with_symbols_over_mouth::grimacing:

Hope they just move away, this is sad for Rock :sob:

Life of a feral is harder humans can be a real monster.


Eat a dick Rock, this is karma for all the babbehs and mummahs from your old herd you killed with your idiocy and blind loyalty to a dumb smarty.

Hope you watch your entire family die one by one.


did rock bite his finger off

Woah, intense. I thought about what might of happened if the person had tried to block off the entrance to their den or bury them alive. Or if they hadn’t killed the baby, but instead left it alive, twisted and dying, but alive enough for Rock to see its final moments as it questioned why its father betrayed it. That would have been fucked up.


Btw @Swindle is the pinky foal a munckin or just a defect it got shorter legs?


Dude wtf. It was the smarty who killed them all, he was a toughie. He’s supposed to follow orders. He even tried to talk the smarty out of doing reckless stuff, got shat on and hit for it. In part 1 it was clearly indicated herd roles are engrained into fluffies. Blaming him is like blaming someone who has been indoctrinated all their life for “not thinking with your own head, sheeple”.

The fact you also advocate for innocents to suffer just to punish him is even worse. Even if he were actually guilty.


I think he just gave the person a really bad wound. I imagine their would’ve been a stronger reaction from both of them if a finger had come off.

“he was just following orders”
sounds like a certain group of unsavoury individuals in the mid 1940s


I would lie if I said that didn’t make me chuckle.

But yeah, getting taught something from your birth is not easy to contest it. At least he eventually did. Better late than never. He could also have given her bad enfies an left her there if he truly had been okie dokey with the smarty’ s rules

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all I’m saying is this is karma for the bad things he allowed to happen, he can’t complain that it’s not fair, it wasn’t fair when every pregnant mare and child in his old herd died because of his loyalty to die führer.

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der, not die.

I guess I can get behind your reasoning, but those weren’t his decisions. And he always protested them, earning him sorry hoofies and poopies. I agree he should have acted earlier.

However, he has shown a remarkable capacity of protecting others to his own expense. Do you not think, one is deserving of a second chance if their heart is in the right place now?

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y’know the thing I hate most about Rock, he doesn’t feel responsible for the deaths before he killed the smarty, no he feels guilty for killing the fucker that did kill them. Dude doesn’t even have nightmares or even a passing thought about them, and that is why karma is kicking his ass right now. He thinks he’s the good guy here, only feeling guilty for the smarty he hurt and maybe his old mate.

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This is what I was referring to. As much as he had wanted to oppose the smarty he hadn’t reached the breaking point yet. He still called his judgment into question.

Even when he did, the herd itself was astonished. They never even tried to stand up to the smarty, why is he the only one on trial?

Also, you may indeed call him a simp for the straw breaking the camel’s back being a mare he liked not being allowed in the herd, but I OBJECT your “he felt no remorse” statement. Case in point, where the accused has put himself in harm’s way to mitigate the damage the smarty had done. (sorry, been binging some Ace Attorney lately).

Sure, he may seem callous to not think back about the others, but he has a family he is striving to protect in a harsh world right now, obsessing over the needless deaths now would be detrimental.


fine I guess he’s an okay fluffy but I will still enjoy his karmic suffering.

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Hope he doesn’t suffer much though.

I am afraid the man will make good on his promise, sadly.

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Dude literally killed his last smarty…


Designer fluffy, the sort with stubby legs and poofy fluff.


Lemme guess…from becky :triumph:

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All of Rock’s offspring are from Becky, yes. Dusty is their surrogate/adoptive mom, as explained in chapter 1. All of her babbehs were killed. Both Rock and Dusty have agreed to have babies together once Rock’s current batch are old enough to be on their own.