I live in an apartment with my earthy fluffy Midnight. I raised her from birth - she has pitch black fur, with a purple mane and tail, and sparkly dark blue eyes.
She’s been a good fluffy, keeping me company when I work from home. I used to have more fluffies… but it didn’t work out. So for the past year it’s just been me and her.
She is extremely well-behaved, quiet, and sweet. My apartment isn’t huge, but I have a large bed, and she spends most of her time there, on top of the covers, playing with her toys or humming songs to herself. The litter box is down in the corner, tucked behind my left-side nightstand (where her food and water dishes are kept), and my computer and desk, where I work, are pressed against the far wall, tucked into the corner between the window and my dresser. I had a set of fluffy stairs to let Midnight climb to and from the bed easier.
I often let Midnight have free reign to explore the apartment during the day. She’s never broken anything or gotten into trouble, though there have been the occasional booboo. But still, despite everything being peaceful, she gets fits of melancholy. Sometimes for hours she curls in a corner and just looks at the wall, sad.
I woke up one morning and she was in one of those moods. I dragged myself out of bed and she walked over to the warm spot and curled in a ball, sighing. I got dressed and showered - I had intended to go out for a bit to get breakfast with my parents. As I went in the bedroom to grab my keys, I heard Midnight speak up.
“Daddeh weabin’?”
“Yes Midnight, I’m going out. You have plenty of kibble and water for the morning, do you want the TV on?”
She shook her head and looked away from me. I could tell she was upset. “Come on, what’s wrong?”
“Daddeh nu be mad?” She looked up, anxious.
I sat at the edge of the bed. “Of course not. What’s on your mind? Don’t tell me it’s babies, I-”
“Nu babbehs Daddeh… Midnite jus’ feew wonewy… Daddeh go out wots or wowkies wots an Midnite twy be good fwuffy and undastan’ but hab heawt huwties sometimes.”
“So… you want a friend? Another fluffy?”
“Midnite wouwd teach fwuffy da ruwes an keep dem quiet, no bothew Daddeh whiwe wowkin’.”
I pet her silky soft mane and scritch behind her ears just how she likes. “Let me think about this. You know, there would be no ‘special huggies’ allowed. If I brought home a boy he’d be fixed anyways but still -”
“Nu spechaw huggies!” She desperately interrupts. Her voice settles down to it’s normal cadence, and she continues - “Nu wan. Nu wan babbehs, Midnite pwomise. Jus wan fwen fwuffy.”
“I can’t promise anything. But we will see.”
I went out to see my dad and step-mom. It was nice, though a little awkward. I’m 30 and I don’t have kids, and they don’t understand my job, so we don’t really have a lot to talk about. Their idea of happy is the classic American family - wife, two or three kids, white picket fence, two cars. Who knows, maybe that IS happiness. But I’m just not there and I don’t see myself getting there. I don’t feel like they’re disappointed per se, just worried about me.
I thought about what Midnight said on my way to the store. I wanted to pick up a few beers to enjoy that evening. Across the street from the beer store was one of those fluffy stores. I put the case of beer in my trunk, and decided to walk over - I’m getting a little soft in the middle, I needed the exercise. Staying fit was so easy when I was 20 and my back didn’t hurt, now I have to work hard to maintain a beer gut.
Along the way, I passed by some dense shrubs.
“Nice hoomin mistuh hab nummies fow fwuffy?” a pathetic voice squeaks from the base of the shrubs. I look down. The creature is filthy, it’s fur a dull ginger and it’s mane light-blue. “Fwuffy nee’ nummies fow miwkies fow chiwpeh babbehs.”
Sure enough, if I strained my ears, I could hear the sounds of peeping and chirping from deep within the shrubs.
“You want food? If you have a poopie baby, give him to me and I’ll give you food.”
The feral’s eyes lit up, and she ran into the shrubs and dragged out a malnourished infant by it’s underdeveloped tail, not even making any noises, and dropped it at my feet. It was covered in feces, it was barely breathing, and it appeared to have a broken front leg.
I knelt down in front of the feral, and pick it up by the scruff. Immediately she screeeeeee’s and struggles and squeals.
“Bad upsies!! mistuh huwting fwuffy! Pwease wet go!!”
“You know what I hate more than anything on this earth?”
She continued to scree and fight helplessly, beginning to soil herself in terror. I reached into her mouth and gripped her lower jaw and she resorted to helplessly peeping like an infant.
“I hate bad mommas.”
There was a sickening squelch and a crack, as I yanked on the feral’s lower jaw. She screamed as much as she could, and I could see three or four foals coming out of the shrubs to investigate the noise. I snapped part of the bone and tore the ligaments as I dislocated her jaw, ensuring that it could not be saved. I then dropped her on the ground, and stomped her front right leg - the same leg that was injured on her brown foal. The crunch and the splatter of crimson beneath my heel informed me that I had shattered the bone and broken the skin.
Satisfied, I walked away, leaving the feral to her fate. Who knows - maybe if she has a mate, and said mate is smart enough to figure out how to feed her like that - she might live. Her other babies might live… though if they do they’ll grow up to be terrible, like she was.
I went over to the fluffy store. I wasn’t set to buy anything but there she was… an orange-red filly with lime-green mane and tail. She had a nice horn, it matched her fur. She didn’t do the huggies pose like the other fluffies, but she stared at me with her green eyes and her tail wagging wildly.
I decided she was the one, but when I went to pick her up, a young colt - green fur with a blonde mane, became distressed.
“Bestes’ fwen! Nuuu!” He cried, his face growing damp with tears.
The filly looked up at me with sad eyes. “Nyu daddeh hab woom for bestes’ fwen Pickwes?”
“What’s your name?”
She stood proudly in the palm of my hand. “Fwuffy am Habanewo!”
“Habanero, huh? alright. Habanero, Pickles, I’ll take you both home.”
I asked about getting Pickles fixed and the shopkeeper assured me all foals born in the store are fixed at birth.
I bought them, and got a carrier for them to share, and walked back to my car. When I passed the spot where I encountered the feral, all that was left was the mare’s blood - a trail of it leading back to the shrubs - and the brown foal, dead on the sidewalk. I held the carrier so Habanero and Pickles couldn’t see, and I gently pushed the foal into the bushes with my shoe. At least he’d feed some other animal that way instead of being squished and ground into the sidewalk. There was some dignity to be had in continuing the circle of life, I suppose. More than being turned into pulp by people who didn’t care, anyways.
I brought Habanero and Pickles into the car. They whined and squealed, despite my assurances, the entire way home.
When I got in, Midnight was standing on the bed. She sniffed the air and her tail started wagging. She was smiling - or doing the closest approximation a fluffy can manage.
“Pickles, Habanero, this is my Fluffy Midnight. She knows all the rules. She will teach you. If you break the rules you will be punished. Daddy is very strict.”
“Nyu Daddeh wat does stwict mean?” Habanero asked.
“It mean bad fwuffies get wowstest owwies and heawt huwties and wowstest fwuffies go FOWEBEW SWEEPIES!” Midnight warned.
The colt and filly both whimpered, but I assured them “If you follow the rules like Midnight, you will get to enjoy this lovely, warm house and you will never go hungry.”
I released them from the carrier, and prepared the room while the fluffies got to know each other. I went and got some old supplies from my closet - a bigger litter box, Fluffy gates to block off the entryway and kitchen, and extra food and water bowls. At first I heard loud, gleeful giggles and laughing and baby-talk from the bedroom, but as I returned I heard Midnight call their attention.
“Fwuffies tu woud! Fwuffies haf tu pway quiet fow Daddeh ow Daddeh can’t wowk!”
“Nu wan be quiet!” Pickles whined. “Wan wun and pway!”
I walked in to set everything up, and I told them “It’s ok Midnight, he’s just excited. It’s ok right now. But when Daddy’s at his computer, you need to keep it down. You get to live in this nice house because I work hard, if you distract me then we’ll all get kicked out.”
The trio seemed to understand. They continued to play together on the bed under my supervision. They followed the rules well enough, though Pickles especially was loud and unruly.
The nightstand couldn’t accomodate six bowls so I set them on the floor by the fluffy stairs. By the time it was night, they curled up in a fluff pile. Habanero and Pickles fell asleep, and as I turned my attention to my computer to play some games, Midnight spoke up sleepily.
“Tank yu fow new fwens Daddeh, Midnite wub yu su much. Midnite teach Habanewo an Pickwes su good.”
This is my very first post ever, but I’ve been a big fan since the Booru days. My username is a bunch of random letters but I go by KeyboardSlap… you know, cause my username looks like I slapped the keyboard. Like most of the creators here I imagine, I consumed as much fluffy content as existed, and when there was nothing else to discover, I decided to make my own stories. This is abuse-box so don’t expect things to stay quite so nice and precious for Habanero and Pickles. My inspiration was something that happened while playing Casual Fluffies V.4. I have three stories planned, “Habanero Breaks the Golden Rule”, “A Colt and his Dog”, and “Emerald in the Wild”. This story, Habanero Breaks the Golden Rule, will probably have four or five parts. If you guys like it, I’ll post the other stories.
This is part 1, posted 2024-05-09. Part 2 will be posted within the next 2 days!
