You are Lil Asskicker, and your life is pretty great.
You are a rust-colored bowl fluffy with a charcoal mane and tail. Your green-mummah, Surge, styled your pretty mane into a “Badass” mane - something called a “Mo-hahk”. She also put owie metal thingies in one of your heary-places, but it was only a little owie, and it looks good to you too! She said when you were a tiny chirpy-baby, you were under a dumpster, and she rescued you before she even knew what fluffies were. As more and more fluffies came to this “world” - which is, apparently, a room so big it’s got LOTS of housies in it! - she learned of their horrible nature, and taught you to be the best fluffy you could be. Not a “bestest”, but The Best. You weren’t sure what the difference was until she brought home a group of fluffies for you to see; a “Smarty”, a “bestest”, and a “Bitch”.
Already you knew right away what she meant; these were BAD fluffies. They made BAD poopies, and they called you the WORST names, and they treated your mummah like she was a dummeh munstah! After a long forever (maybe a half hour) of trying to teach them how to be good fluffies, and nothing working, you felt something inside you’d never felt before. You said words you’d never said before - “HATE’CHU!” - and you gave them Sorry Hoofsies. That’s when you learned you were different from other fluffies; the Smarty tried to give you sorry hoofsies, and his hoof hit your cheek. Sure, it hurt, but it wasn’t the WORST hurties. Then you gave HIM sorry hoofsies, and as you felt the side of his jaw crumble and crack under your own hoof, your mummah gave you the best “WOW”. So you had given him more, and more, and more, until he stopped moving. Then, the Bestest baby had waddled to you and gave you sorry poopies; you crushed it as well. When the Bitch Mare cried over this you felt bad, but your mummah took her outside and you never saw her again. Later you learned she had been making her own babies num poopies, and you wished you could’ve given her sorry hoofsies too.
That was about a month ago. You’d learned a lot from FluffTV and mummah, and now you were a big fluffy. Three-and-three whole Bright Times ago you had gotten an urge, and couldn’t stop yourself; you found one of the “metal” thingies outside and had rubbed your no-no stick on it, until you had Good Feels. When your mummah caught you, she didn’t seem too happy, and said she’d need to find a better toy for you to do that with. Then, THREE bright-times ago, she’d brought you something amazing; an Enfie Mare! A pretty, PRETTY mare who had given her own babies forever sleepies, so now she had no leggies and she was your enfie mare. And life was good.
Today, you woke up after having curled in a spot of sunlight to see that the bright spot had moved. You stretched, yawned, and trotted to your litterbox to make good poopies. After you were done, you had special-huggies with the Enfie Mare, who kept trying to call herself “Princess”, and then walked out of the saferoom. Wait…out? You looked back; the saferoom door hadn’t been locked properly! You almost panicked; you didn’t want to be a bad fluffy! But then, something in your thinky-place stirred, a Bright Time Thinky Picture; your mummah had told you “Now that you’ve got your enfie mare, i think i can let you 'splore again. Just only enf your enfie mare, and nothing else!” Your ears perked up; you just needed to make sure to walk back to your room to make good poopies and enf the enfie mare, and you were fine!
So, naturally, you 'splored. You hadn’t been a 'splorin baby for a long time, but since you’d spent three-and-three bright times in your saferoom only, you wondered if anything had changed. You strolled out to the Mummah room, where her noisy picture-boxy sat on it’s desk, next to the Big Whooshy Boxy, the Clicky-thingy, and the wide Tappy-clicky-thingy. Mummah had given them names before, and you struggled to remember them; Com…Com-pee-yoo-tur. Mon-itter. Key-bored. And your favorite one; Mousie! It didn’t look like the mousie you’d caught a while back trying to sneak into mummah’s nummie-bags, but that’s what she called it. Speaking of nummie-bags, they were everywhere, as usual; bags of cheesy-nummies, chompy-nummies - the ones that had the big letters “B B Q” on it were your favorites - and stringy-nummies. You learned a while back that the stringy-nummies were a different, softer kind of cheesy-nummy that could be turned into cheesy skettis, and you LOVED them! You trotted over, your tummy-bowl swaying around as you sniffed at the cheesy-nummy bags, trying to find leftover; nope, none.
You were reminded then that you were hungry; you had gotten out of your room on the way to the food bowl. So you sauntered back; most fluffies had a terrible sense of direction and got lost easy. You were taught a fun way to get back to your room though; there was the “corner”, right behind you. It was a darker green than your mummah, and on the right of it was a black wall. That meant that corner was good to go around! You waddled back, and saw the bars of your saferoom; you found it! You skipped back in and went to your food bowl, munching down the tasty sketti-kibble your mummah had “stoh-len” for you. It was a funny word, and she said she might get in trouble for it, but you weren’t sure why. You ignored the whining from your enfie-mare, the constant “Nu faiw” in between a bunch of other words - mostly calling you and your mummah names - almost making you want to give her sorry hoofsies, but you didn’t want to break her like you broke the Smarty many forevers ago.
You didn’t think about the smarty again for a few forevers. You finished eating, made more good poopies, enf’d again, and then went back out to the mummah room, this time with your belly full so nothing would stop you. You were inspecting the big red “metal” things again when you heard a few squeaks coming from somewhere nearby. Looking around, you didn’t see anything, but the squeaks continued. You looked back in your room, but the enfie-mare was asleep. You checked mummah’s “bed-room”, but there was nothing in ther except that Really Good Smell. You backed away before you sniffed it, enticing as it may be; the smell in that room always made your no-no stick act funny, and you couldn’t enf right now, you needed to find the source of the squeaking! You wandered back out to the Mummah room, looking up at the computer, and then the noise-makers that were always on mummah’s heary-places that made it hard for her to hear you. Those weren’t the source either! With all options exhausted, you tried to think again; your room, her room, her bedroom, this room, your room, bedroom, this room…door.
You turned and waddled back to the hall; instead of looking right, where your saferoom was, you looked left. There it was; The Door. Mummah had taken you outside a few times, taught you where housie was, taught you how to get back - a process that had taken a couple weeks while you were still a 'splorin baby. But you knew how to get back, especially since mummah had put down the shiny bars that you could feel with your hooves. She called them “cop-err”, and you loved the feel, and the smell. They weren’t nummies, but you wished you had a cop-err toysie to play with. Shaking your head, you returned your attention to the squeaky noises. As you walked towards the door, they got louder; the noises were on the other side! You looked down at the wide slot in front of you, the smaller door mummah had put in. It was a funny thing; it was the same shape as your blockies, but if something tried to go through that wasn’t you, it would turn into the same shape as a ball, and anything in the middle would get stuck. In order to make it go back to blocky-shape, you had to use your Zappies, something that NO other fluffy had. You weren’t sure why you had them and fluffies didn’t, but when you asked mummah, she said it was just because you had different milkies as a chirpy-baby. You were just astounded by the fact that there were OTHER milkies out there somewhere, too much to ask where yours came from, but now it didn’t matter, because you ate kibble and sketties.
Exposition aside, you wandered forth through the fluffy-door; as usual, it gave you huggies that stopped you from moving, but then you gave it zappies and it opened up again. It gave a soft “Beep-beep-beep”, and you were through before the fourth beep. If you were there on the fourth beep, it gave you huggies again, and you’d need to give it more zappies. But now, you were outside; the fresh air smelled good to you, the tall metal fence surrounding mummah’s “yard” gently shook back and forth…and standing there, on the same side as you, was a bunch of fluffies you never saw before. They smelled like outside; like dirties and grassies, but they also smelled yucky, like bad poopies. In fact, it looked like some of them had bad poopies on their poopie-places! Yuck! As you watched, you thought you saw another fluffy grow from the ground, but then you looked closer; her poopie-place was on the outside, and her thinky-place was inside. She wiggled under the fence, her belly-fluff coated in dirt, and then all of her was on the inside. As you watched, one of the fluffies finally noticed you, approaching and stomping his hooves, puffing up his cheeks. He was a rich blue color, with a sleek and shiny red mane that turned green about halfway down to his body.
“Dummeh poopie fwuffy! Dis am smawty wand nao!!” he said, stomping his hooves on the grass, his tail flicking back and forth. “Get off smawty wand, ow get wowstest stompies!!” You sat up, and made your own angry-face. “Dis am nu smawty wand! Dis am Wiw Asskika wand! Dis am mummah wand! Gu way!” The Smarty looked shook for a moment. “Nu-nu wowds…” he muttered, then glared and puffed his cheeks up again. “NU. Dis. Am. SMAWTY. WAND. Yu am POOPIE, nu teww Smawty wha tu du!” he said, stamping his hooves again. Two other fluffies came over then, both slightly larger than the Smarty; one was a bright red with a white mane, the other a brilliant orange with a brown mane. “Wisten tu smawty, poopie.” the red one said angrily. “Ow tuffy gib sowwy hoofsies tu!”
You stared down the three of them, thinking; YOU were a Toughie too. In fact, you were the toughest! “Poopie am ugwy.” the orange one stated, glaring at you. “Wook at dummeh bewwy. Am weiwd shapies. Mus’ be dummeh.” You glared at him then, and you forgot the Smarty was there for a moment. Your mummah had taught you well, so you lashed out with the worst words you’d been taught. “FAK 'OU.” you yelled, and the three of them jumped back. The mares that stayed back began to cry, and you finally noticed there were also many chirpies around them; some on their back, but to your anger you noticed there were others on the ground. Tiny little walkie-babbehs that were simply sobbing, skinny, underfed. Their coats were all darker colors; a deep tomato-red with a brown tail, a brown one with a dirty orange tail, and one that looked like the sky on a day when it was going to let down heavy sky-wawas. Your observation was interrupted by the Smarty suddenly approaching again, snorting angrily. “Nu-nu wowds fwom bad fwuffy! Smawty gib bad dummeh poopie fwuffy foweba sweepies!” You turned to look at him just in time; he had run up to you and his head collided with your tummy-bowl. As you let out a soft “OOF!” and fell on your back, he was suddenly over you, and his leathery hooves came down on your face.
Over and over the Smarty struck, your cheeks stinging from the soft impacts; any human would simply be tickled by these, but you - despite being a tough fluffy - felt them like soft slaps. However, as they bapped against your cheeks, all they did was sting a little; you brought your own hoof up and felt it SMACK against the Smarty’s cheek, and he let out a loud “REEEEE” as he fell to the side. “OWIES!” You tried to stand, your bowl-shape making it difficult, but one of mummah’s lessons came back to you; you rocked up and down, back and forth. No, wait, that was wrong. As you laid back down your back hooves came up, inadvertently bringing one into the chin of the red Toughie that had tried to run up behind the Smarty; he let out a “SCREEEE” as well, and then you began to rock side to side, side to side, before finding yourself flipping back over and standing up. The Smarty recovered then, and rushed at you, coming up and bringing both front hooves down on your hips. It hurt a lot more than normal, but you just turned and glared at him. “Dummeh smawty, Wiw Asskika am Tuffest thewe is!” you said; for some reason the back of your thinky-place said “Heh”, and you turned to face him.
The Smarty stamped his hooves on the ground again, puffing his cheeks. “Yu am jus’ dummeh. Ugwy. Poopie. DUMMEH. STOOPI FWUFFY!” he said, and suddenly turned around. “Take sowwy POOPIES!” You were NOT about to let this Smarty make Bad Poopies on mummah’s lawn. HELL no. Quickly you spun around; mummah had taught you a way to give bad fluffies forever sleepies much easier, and now, it seemed, was the time to do it. As you spun to face your poopie-place to the Smarty, you didn’t give him poopies; you leaned forward, and you KICKED with your back legs. You felt them both connect with the back legs of the Smarty, feeling the crunch of fluffy bones under your fingernail-soft hooves, and as you heard the telltale prrrrt of bad poopies, you also heard “SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” again; louder than before, and moving away, till you heard the metal clatter and shake of the fence. Turning around again, you had luckily avoided getting poopies on your tail, and saw a trail of liquid poopies leading from you to the Smarty. He was rolling on the ground, clutching his face, boo-boo juice leaking from his mouth and smell-place; the metal of the fence had knocked out several of his teeth and cut into his soft face-flesh.
As he squealed and shook on the ground, clutching his face as he bled, he began to chirp as if he were a baby. “MUMMAH! PEEP WOWSTEST OWIES, CHEEP! NEE’ HUGGY, SMAWTY WAN’ HUGGIES, PEEP!!” His calls went unanswered, but one of the mares ran over; she was a VERY pretty gray color, and her white mane seemed to have small sparkly blue bits in it. Or at least, they would sparkle, if dirt hadn’t been mixed in with her entire fluff. “Speciaw fwein! Fwuffy am hewe! Gib huggies!” she said, hugging the rocking Smarty. In return, his flailing hoof caught her on the chin, as he was too busy being in pain to register he was getting the huggies he was demanding; she fell back on her haunches and began to sob. “Speciaw fwein gib owies! Huuuhuuu, onwy twy tu gib huggies, an’ get owies, huuuuu!”
The sound was starting to give you a headache. You had heart-owies too, hearing another fluffy cry, but your thinky-place was hurting more. You noticed a bright red and bright orange shape move up to you then, and you looked to see the two toughies standing near you, angrily stomping. “Ou gib smawty weadew wowstest owies! Tuffy gib ou fowebah sweepies!” the orange one said. Already you were missing your toysies; the mare gave you a headache, the chirpy poopie babies were hugging each other, scared at all the noise, and now you had to deal with these two? You glared at them both, and inhaled. “FAK OU.” you yelled again, and while they leapt back once more, they came up again, not backing down. Seemed mummah’s “Bad Scream” only worked a couple times. You need a way to stop them, a way to make them and their mares go away. Slowly the little cogs in your fluffy mind ground together, steam nearly coming from your ears as your thinky-place went to work harder than it ever had before. The pictures came back again; your mummah using her zappies a long time ago on a human that had tried to give you forever sleepies as a 'splorin baby. That was it!
You stood before the two toughies, huffing, concentrating; you moved your shoulders how you had done so long ago, and felt the ticklee-zappies in your body again. You felt them grow and grow, bigger and bigger; sparks began to flick across your rust-colored fur, and the mares that weren’t over nearby began to “ooh” and “aah” at the pretty blue flickies than raced across you. The toughies looked puzzled, keeping their guard up but not backing away. You felt the tickles turn into owies, and knew you had enough then. “Dummeh Tuffies, Wiw Asskika say gu way, buh nu gu way. Gib ou…sowwy ZAPPIES!” you told them. The red one blinked. “Wuh…wuh am…zappies?” he asked, then glared. “Nu cawe, gib sowwy hoofies!” He and the orange one dashed the two feet between you and raised themselves up on hind legs. You sat up, and pressed your hooves to their faces, and felt that little twitch at the very very back of your thinky-place.
A human sticking their finger against an exposed wire experiences a small shock. Depending on the amount of volts running through it, it can sometimes cause burning. However, the human will often be fine afterwards, and learn not to touch the exposed wire again. You, however - Lil Asskicker - cannot produce enough voltage needed to do more than give a human a nasty shock. And you can build it up quick enough that they learn not to touch you again. Even if they kick you, your shock can go through their shoe, and give them a shock similar to stubbing their toe on a corner or stepping on a LEGO.
To a pair of fluffies, on the other hand, this minute shock proved to do exactly what you needed it to do; give them forever sleepies. As your hooves connected with their smell-places you felt the zappies leave your body and jump to them; there were even tiny little half-split-second glowy blue bits that leapt forth at point of contact. Right away, the tuffies fell back, eyes wide. As they landed on their backs, they began to jerk around, their leggies flailing, twitching, eyes bulging out. You saw foam build up in their mouths and spill out as they each suffered an electrically-induced seizure, and then they lay still as their tiny hearts gave up. You looked to the Smarty then, who had stopped crying finally, and who was now watching you with wide eyes.
The mares had seen enough; the one that had helped him and the ones left behind squealed in fear, screaming “MUNSTAH, MUNSTAH POOPIE!!!”, and all of them tried to get out through the hole they’d dug beneath the fence. Two of them wriggled through and got stuck, blocking the passage, and the rest tried get through; pounding away with their hooves, two mares and a single stallion - neither a tuffy or smarty - tried in vain to get out. “NEE WUN!” “WAI FWUFFY NU MUB??” “WAI SPECHIAW FWEIN NU WET FWUFFY WEAB???” and more such babbling filled the air. You, however, had a job to do.
You turned to the Smarty and waddled over to him. He squealed and tried to dig under the fence; he had been the one to dig the first hole, but he had done it with great big scoops and hard presses. Now he was rapidly pawing at the ground, the dirt refusing to yield to his frantic attempt. “DUMMEH GWASSIES, WET SMAWTY OUT! WET SMAWTY OUT NAO!” he commanded the ground, glancing back in time to see you. He puffed up his cheeks again and lifted his tail, but you lifted a hoof and flung it sideways, smacking his bottom and making him fall to the ground as you back-hooved his hip. “EEEE!” he yelled out, and you stood over him, one hoof on either side of his head. “Wet smawty gu! Pwease munstah poopie, wet smawty gu, smawty nebah botha again!!” he squealed, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Huuhuuu, smawty weab, smawty weab an nebah cum back, smawty pwomise!!”
Something in your brain tickled at you; this wasn’t how a Smarty was supposed to act. Even in the face of death, you’d seen enough videos on mummah’s TV to know Smarties are demanding until the moment they die. Unless…you vaguely remember that when a Smarty is hurt enough, they might try to bargain, only to become a Smarty again when they’re safe. You look down at the scaredy-peepees and poopies he was making, and noticed his back legs were sticking in wrong directions; your kick earlier had broken his back legs. You hadn’t noticed he had been laying on the ground while he tried to dig. He really WAS scared, at least for now. If you let him go, he’d go away, maybe be a dummy with dummy-leggies. The thought was enticing…but no.
Your front legs hugged around his head. “Nu. Smawty am foh foweba sweepies.” you said, repeating your mummah’s words. You began to build up the zappies again, feeling them against your back. The Smarty below you squealed, flailing his legs, thrashing about as you held him still. “NU! NU FOWEBA SWEEPIES! HATE’CHU! SMAWTY HATE’CHU! STUPI POOPIE MUNSTAH FWUFFY! YU SHOULD NUM POOPIES! AWW DA POOPIES! NUM POOPIES FOWEBAH!” he screamed at you. Your brain, trained by your mummah, remembered what that meant. So, you said it back to him, in the way your mummah had told you to say it, using the No-No words she had carefully taught you as you grew up to not think of as no-no words. “Num shit an’ dai, Smawty bish.” you said, and you felt his entire body cringe at the use of TWO bad words. “N-n-nu, nu-nu wowds bad fo fwuffy-” he said, voice trembling. And then, at last…ZAP.
You felt the Smarty’s body tense up, his legs sticking out in all directions, and then he went limp. His tongue flopped from his mouth, his eyes bulge, and boo-boo juice ran from his eyes and ears down over his face. You trotted off of him and over to the herd he left behind; they had beat the mares trapped under the fence so badly their spines had snapped, and now the two were sobbing, unable to move, shitting themselves in fear. The other two mares and one stallion ran away from you, to another part of the fence to huddle against it, holding their chirpy-babies between them for protection. You didn’t care, however; you saw the three small foals huddled together in a pile, left behind by their own parents. The tomato one, the brown one, and the dark grey one. They chirped and peeped, afraid and lost; they weren’t even seeing-babies yet. Remembering the three back in your saferoom, in the cage you grew up in, you figured mummah would be happy to have more; after all, she brought the others for you! Sure, they weren’t as pretty as the others, and they smelled bad, but so did the others, till mummah used her wawa-magic and made them smell pretty. So you leaned down and picked them up, making them scree and cry and make scaredy peepees, and when they were done making a mess you flicked them up on your back.
You trotted back to the door, and realized the problem; the babies couldn’t make zappies. You put the first one in, and the blocky-shape became a ball-shape; however, it stopped halfway, and the baby went in. So, you put the next one in, then the last, and zapped the door; it opened, you went through, making sure to be careful not to step on the babies - missing the timeout and having to zap the door again - and then carried them back to the saferoom where Princess waited. “B…babbehs?” she asked, and you snorted at her. “Yes, babbehs. Nu toysies. Nu gib babbehs fowebah sweepies.” you told her, and trotted over to the cage as she huu-huu’d. You could just about fit the little ones in between the blocky-shapes in the cage, with a little wiggling, and the two oldest in the cage - that had only just opened their eyes last bright-time - sniffed and recoiled. “B-big bwuh!” one said. “Wai…poopie? Nu s-smeww pwetty!” “Nu wowwy, wiw babbeh. When mummah come homesie, mummah make smeww pwetty. Den be nyu bwuddahs oh sissies.” you tell them, and he perks right up. “Yay! Nyu…b-bwuh! Nyu sis! Wub!” he says, and his own sibling peeps happily as well. You walk over and munch some kibble since the fight made you hungry, and waited for mummah.
You are Surge the Tenrec, and life’s been pretty great recently.
Lil Asskicker stopped humping everything now that he had a new enfie-mare, you managed to find enough litter to last a LONG while, and best yet, a new store opened up that had some of those exotic meats you typically had to run three cities over for! You ran back home and were about to open the gate, when you heard a ton of sobbing and whining. Looking down, you saw a huddle of three fluffys at the gate’s door, chirping babies huddled between them. The pink one with the green mane and the orange stallion with a yellow mane looked all right, but your eyes focused on the third ones; a silver mare with a white mane, with blue speckles in it!
Dollar signs erupted in your eyes, and you reached down to grab her by the scruff, making her squeal. “BAD UPSIES! BAD UPSIES!” You hopped over the fence so as not to let the others out, and felt something crunch under your boot; looking down, you saw an orange fluffy with a brown mane, squished from you stepping on it. You made a face, and then noticed the other ones; red with a white mane, laying on it’s back next to the orange one you’d just stepped in, and a blue one against the fence. Both…no, all three of them had foamed at the mouth, and their little ears were smoking. You grinned wide; Lil Asskicker had killed three whole invading fluffies today! Looking to the other side, you saw the hole they had dug under your fence, where two other mares were stuck, their backsides beaten in and sobbing as they were unable to move. One was a blue mare with a cream-colored mane, the other was a young adult stallion, blue with a pink mane, but with white highlights through his fluff. Damn, you couldn’t sell that. Couldn’t even USE it. You also remarked at how odd it was that two blue fluffs had been born to this herd, and both seemed to come from the speckled silver one in your grip.
Rather than get held up on the logistics of fluffy breeding you shrugged and walked into your house; you’ll deal with the herd later. Plopping the bag of groceries down in your living room near the fridge, you walked into the hall to clean off the silver mare in the bathroom, hearing a bunch of chirps and peeps from the saferoom. You looked in; there was Lil Asskicker, taking a nap on his bed. Princess, the enfie-mare, softly sobbing, her backside placed in the litterbox so she wouldn’t make a mess on the carpet. The three unnamed poopies in the cage - wait. There were SIX. You leaned in and noticed three that hadn’t been there before; a dark red, a brown, and a dark grey one, all severely malnourished and reeking. You’d ask Asskicker about them later, and reached in, picking the three up. They cheeped in fear, and you sighed, carefully setting the mare in the bathtub and putting a wire mesh protector in the sink.
Carefully, you scrubbed the foals first, rubbing them down with mint soap, and took them back to the cage to place them in. The two oldest foals sniffed and hugged them. “Nyu sis! Nyu bwuh! Wub!” one said, and the tiny freshly-cleaned Poopie-babies coo’d happily. You left them to clean the mare - amidst another round of cries of “WAWA BAD FOH FWUFFY!!!” - and then took her to the living room, shutting her in another cage you pulled from a closet. Tossing your bag of groceries in the fridge, you sat down and booted up modded Skyrim. You’d ask Asskicker about his day when he woke up. Now? Time to go put Aela the huntress in a werewolf mating press.
((Sorry this one was SUPER long, had a bunch of stuff to cover from a simple idea that hit me in the shower today. HAD to get it out.))
