Making a difference (by: Jackie22)

“So, how does it look?”

Aaron watched Neumann nervously as he carefully looked over the foal’s legs. The foal made pained and fearful whimpers as his experienced hands shifted it’s sensitive limbs. He worried that things would go bad, but he stayed anyways. This was where he could make a difference.


A pink and yellow mare watched the pair of humans pour over her babbeh with a more outright fear. Terror, really. She had already lost 3 broods to human cruelty, she couldn’t take losing another…

“Where did they get them?” Neumann asked.

“Off the street, but before that, they were living in a mill, apparently. The Tulip told me about it. The mare I mean. They did some seriously fucked up shit there. Put 'em in cages, let abusers at the foals. Told them all sorts of lies about how the ‘monsters’ wouldn’t come if they were ‘good fluffies’ or something. Absolutely revolting stuff.”

“Hmm.” Neumann muttered, seemingly disinterestedly. Still evaluating the foals coldly. He finished with one and placed it down in front of its mother, who quickly picked it up and hugged it to her chest, still watching the human, eyes upturned, clutching her precious babbeh fearfully.

“I don’t understand why people do shit like that. If you don’t like fluffies, don’t hang out around them. Why do people need to go the extra fucking mile and torture the poor things like that?”

“Huh.” Neumann said.

“Anyways, someone took her out of the mill and started torturing her and her foals on their own. He killed 3 of them before she escaped onto the street and got picked up by animal control, but she has a massive fear of humans. Some of the worst I’ve ever seen. She won’t wear a collar, and she starts freaking out whenever somebody smiles at her. It took a ton of convincing just to get her to let you look at her foals.”

“Mmm.” Neumann said, putting a foal back in front of the mare.

“I don’t know how we’re going to find a home for her, especially since the farm shut down. Did you hear about that? Someone went in to the barn in the middle of the night and dumped a bunch of ammonia into a bucket of bleach. Killed all the fluffies there. They even left a sign outside the barn saying ‘danger, mustard gas’. 160 fluffies dead, and for what? Why? Why even fucking do that? Just so that fluffies can suffer more? Who gains from that? Some sicko getting his rocks off?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Neumann said.

“Exactly! What’s wrong in somebody’s head that-”

“No, I mean I’m done. I looked all the foals over.”

“Oh… How’s it look?”

“Terrible. The lacerations on the legs were poisoned with some kind of necrotizing substance. All of them are rotted beyond treatment, and it’s gonna spread to their bodies pretty damn soon.”

“What do you wanna do?”

Neumann motioned Aaron to come over. They both walked outside the room.

“Let them die.”

Aaron was taken aback by Neumann’s unexpected decision.

“What!? Why? Can’t we just amputate the legs?”

“No point really. They’re too far gone. The right time to amputate was two days ago. Amputating now would be pretty unlikely to work. It’s not worth the time. It’s a miracle they’re even still alive, in fact. Bizarre, actually…” Neumann said, raising an eyebrow at Tulip through the closed door.

“I know but can’t we do something for her? She’s already lost her first 3 litters…” Aaron pleaded.

“All the more reason to leave them. If we amputate them, her fear of humans is just going to get worse. And if they die as well even after that, she’ll be impossible to re-home. The foals are done for, but the mare still has a chance. Maybe. Probably not, honestly. We’ll likely have to put her down too.”

“We can’t just kill them! I know some fluffies are too far gone, but we’re supposed to be helping them! Tulip is healthy and you even said yourself that her foals have a chance to survive. Why not take that chance?”

“It’s a whole lot of wasted time and effort on a pack of fluffs with no real chance at a future. Putting the foals aside, do you honestly think that Tulip is going to be a good pet after what she went through? Do you think anyone is going to want a fluffy that screams when you try to put a collar on it? That shits all over the carpet when you so much a smile at it? The abuser knew what they were doing too. The poison is slow acting. They wanted the foals to survive as long as possible so that they could make Tulip watch helplessly as her foals slowly died in agony. The mare was dead the moment she got put in with those freaks, and the foals were dead the moment their legs were torn open.”

“So what, you just want to let the abuser win? Just leave Tulip and her foals to die because it’s too much trouble?”

“It’s not about winning or losing or trouble, it’s about reality. This shelter’s full of fluffies with a chance at a future, and Tulip isn’t one of them. All the time and effort we spend on Tulip is time and effort that could be going to another fluffy. One who actually stands a chance at getting a good home. Do you know what’s going to happen if we save Tulip and her foals? We’re going to put them up in a pen in front, and her and her foals are going to languish helplessly for weeks as other fluffies get adopted all around them, until they finally pass the deadline and get sent to the tank. Or, if they do get adopted, she and her pillowed foals are going to become a nuisance in someone’s life for weeks until tulip finally goes off the deep end and pulls the last straw. Then she’ll get sent back here and sent to the tank. Or she won’t, and her 3 pillowed foals will grow into full sized fluffies. Who has the time and money to take care of 3 pillow fluffs and a shattered mare? They might get new adopters, but they probably will be sent back here, and you know how unpopular pillow fluffs are. More than likely, they’ll be sent to the tank. Let’s just have the foals die now and try our luck with Tulip.”

“I can’t believe this… There’s no way we can just do nothing after everything Tulip’s been through! She survived the mill, escaped the abuser, survived the streets, only to finally make it here just for us to do absolutely nothing to help her!?”

“That’s another thing I meant to ask about. The ‘escape’ you mentioned. How did-”

“What are you two yelling about?” Asked a short woman impatiently. She seemed annoyed by their loud conversation, echoing offensively through the small hallway. Likely into the adjoining rooms as well.

“Oh. Carla. We were talking about the rescue; Tulip.” Neumann said.

“We just need to amputate the legs and go from there.” Aaron said.

“What’s going on?” Carla said, essentially repeating herself. Impatience increasing.

“The foals have severe necrosis on all their legs. It’s probably fatal.” Neumann answered.

“Is there a chance that they’ll survive?”


Carla threw her hands up to head level, stopping the motion at her elbows.


“It’s not that simple. The mare’s been heavily abused. The foals are unlikely to survive and will be pillows if they do, and if and when they die, the mare’s just going to get worse. Letting them die on their own is probably the better choice.”

“Hmm… …Nah. She’s a mill fluff so we’ve already got to spay her anyways. She’s not going to like that one bit. Plus, there’s also the chance that she’ll blame us for the foals dying anyways. Better to take our chances. Amputate and we’ll see how this plays out.”

“Alright.” Neumann said, dispassionate.

“Thank god…” Aaron said, relieved.

The two men reentered the room. Tulip jumped a bit when she saw them, curling up around her foals protectively. Wordlessly, Neumann headed to the cabinet to get his surgical tools. Aaron went up to Tulip to break the bad news.

“N- nice mistah? Hewp babbehs nao?”

“Well… It’s not that simple Tulip. Your babies have really bad sickies.”

“Buh… Buh mistah say dat hoomins hewp babbehs! Make sickies gu way!”

“I know Tulip, but the sickies are really bad. Their leggies are going to spread the sickies to their bodies and give them forever sleepies.”

The mention of death sent tulip into a panicked frenzy.


“Wha!? Nu wan foebah sweepies! Huu huuuu!” Moaned one of her still cognizant foals.

“Tulip, calm down…”


“It’s okay tulip, we might be able to save them.”


“We can but… We’re going to need to amputate their-”

The mention of amputation whipped her into another frenzy. It would seem that term was familiar to her…

“NU! NU AMPOOTASHIN! NU HUWT BABBEHS! WHY HOOMINS HUWT BABBEHS!?” She screamed again, tears beginning to stream down her fluff.

“Whas ampootashun? Scawwy! Nu wike!” The foal cried again, still weak with pain and illness.

“We don’t want to hurt your babies tulip, we just need to cut their legs off to deal with the necrosis. Once we take them away, your babies-”


Tulip curled around her foals, still screaming garbled words of terror and defiance even as Neumann arrived with all his tools.

“She’s not going to hand them over any time soon. Just take her back to the pens. We need to get started.” Neumann said.



Aaron swiftly picked up Tulip and headed to the door. She exploded into screams as he did.


“Mummah! Mummah hewp babbehs! Huu huuuuu!!!”

Aaron and Tulip passed the threshold. The door closed behind them. The foals were alone now.

Neumann pinched his nose as he readied himself for the ordeal ahead. As the resident surgeon of a fluffy rescue shelter, he was a master when it came to torturing fluffies to death, whether he wanted to be or not. The bizarre, contradictory and often slapdash nature of fluffy biology meant that most forms of anesthesia were either impossible, largely ineffective, or outright deadly. The few that weren’t were either prohibitively expensive, carried a large risk of crippling the fluffy or killing it outright, or required extreme skill. Usually all three. All of them were beyond the means of of a rescue shelter.

Many fluffies here are the grisly remains of abusers, sometimes rescued by a perceptive human, sometimes found in the aftermath of some other domestic dispute that ended in police action, sometimes left for the shelter as a “gift”. Those were the worst cases. Abusers would torment fluffies to the very precipice of death, then leave their broken bodies and shattered minds in some cardboard box in a noticeable place. Animal control would then remand them to a shelter like theirs. Neumann had seen horrors the likes of which were unimaginable when he worked with dogs. He thought the things people did to dogs was unthinkable, but what they did to fluffies was beyond compare. For example, Neumann had never seen a dog shaved bald and whipped until it bled, with all it’s foals stitched to its raw flesh, eyes gouged out, jagged shards of metal in every joint. With every movement the metal would shift, and with every shift the foals would scream and thrash in agony. As they thrashed, they tore open the mare’s ruined flesh, who thrashed and screamed in agony right along with them. This process continued until the mare and foals were both utterly exhausted, collapsing into a stupor for a few minutes only for the same to happen just a bit later. By the time they made it to the shelter, half of the foals were begging for death, and the other half could do nothing but cry and beg their mother for salvation, unaware that she was the source of their torment, and that they were hers. Neumann had the pleasure of dealing with that case, and the 3 similarly horrible cases that came along over the next few weeks, until the abuser either got caught, was rendered unable to abuse fluffies further, or simply got bored of harassing the shelter staff. Most likely the former.

In the beginning, the shelter had a no-kill policy. That policy came under fire right away, and ended soon once the reality of abusers took hold. Neumann spearheaded the efforts to establish a euthanasia program, to no one’s surprise. It was approved within a day.

With that in mind, Neumann was rather calm at the idea of a triple-quardruple amputation of foals. Compared to everything else he’s dealt with over his years of working with seemingly everyone’s least favorite talking horse, the idea of a simple amputation leading to a genuine, if unlikely, chance at survival, was downright merciful. The foals were still in deep shit of course, the surgery could go bad, the infection could already have taken hold, the mental toll of it all could and likely would traumatize the foals for life. The youngest might not remember much. They were also the most likely to die. It was a brutal reality no matter what happened, but then again, that was always the case when it came to fluffies. Neumann had long ago steeled himself and guarded his heart. He tried not to care, he really did, but there was a reason he was still here. This was the place where he could make a difference, too. He had saved the lives of countless fluffies, and was quite hated by them for it, but still. Save them he did.

He laid out the tools in front of the operating surface and prepared the foal restraint. A small aluminum platform in the shape of an “X”. Many foals had been tortured on it. As he calibrated it’s delicate mechanisms, one of the foals chimed up.

“M- Mistah? Nice mistah…? Nu huwt wittwe babbehs…?” It asked fearfully, tears in it’s little eyes.

Their previous experiences with an abuser may have been affecting them. It’s possible that they were too young to remember being tortured, crippled, poisoned and left to die, but it’s also possible that they were not.

“I’m going to fix your sickies. What I do next will save your lives.” Neumann half-lied carefully.

He notably avoided the fact that he would be slicing their legs off in a terrifying and agonizing process that closely mirrored the abuse they had already suffered. Likely by the abuser’s design. He also avoided the fact that he had no idea if it would really save them of if they were about to be tortured, dismembered and mutilated for nothing. But when you think about it, it would hardly matter at that point…

Neumann gently lifted the most active looking foal. The one that would be hardest to catch if it were trying to run away. He placed it carefully into the restraints, strapping it’s body to the aluminum frame.

“Nu wike metaw ting! Cowdies! Mistah pweeze wet out?” The foal chirped. Fear mounting. Neumann readied the scalpel.

He had to cut as close to the torso as possible, to minimize the amount of leg flesh remaining to poison the foal. He lined it up with the shoulder, and in one swift and practiced motion, severed the foal’s rear leg.

It took a second for the foal to realize what just happened. Neumann was already stitching the hole closed when it began screaming.

“SCREEEEEEEEE!!! BIGGEST WEGGIE OWWIES! MUMMAAAAAAAH!!!” The foal screamed, helpless in it’s restraints. It’s brother was lying down, breathing hard and unresponsive, but it’s sister’s eyes were saucers.

Neuman worked quickly to stitch up the leg and start on the next one. The quicker he worked, the quicker it was over. The foal screamed in agony as the other lower leg was cut free, a rancid smell of decay emanating from the severed stump. The discolored flesh signaled doom. Neumann paused for just an instant as he realized that the foal was almost certainly dead, but he collected himself and began dressing the wound immediately. A quick spray of disinfectant was the only thing he could do for it now. It may have just as well been acid on the foal’s sensitive flesh.

“SCREEEEEEEEE!!! SCREEEEEEEE!!! MUMMAH!!! UHUUUHUUUUHUUUUUU!!! MUMMAH HEWP BABBEH!!!” The foal screamed as it was dismantled. It’s sibling backed away in horror.

“Nu! Why mistah huwt sissy!? Nu huwt sissy! Huu huu huuu!!! Wan mummah! Mummah!”

Neumann ignored the familiar cries of torment, all too ordinary to him these days. All he had to do now was focus. He cut the left front leg free. He stitched it up too, ignoring the foal’s weakening cries of agony. He mended it as best he could and sanitized it to the best of his ability, and started on the last leg. Despite their rotten looking exterior, some of them were surprisingly intact inside. They probably didn’t need to be cut off, But that happened too. He was only human, and his triage was not flawless. There was no MRI machine for fluffy foals.

He stitched it’s last leg up as it whimpered and sobbed. Then he put it down in the box. It tried to waddle towards the familiar imprint left by it’s mother, unaware that it’s legs had been severed. It simply wiggled them back and forth painfully. It didn’t move an inch, and most likely, would never move an inch ever again.

It’s sibling simply stared at it in horror. She couldn’t even muster the courage to give huggies. The human had just cut her sister apart, and was now casually fiddling with his tools as her sister whimpered in agony, begging for her mother.

Neumann couldn’t start on the next foal right away. He had to sanitize the workspace first, lest her sister’s effluvium doom the second foal as well.

But soon he was done, and reached for the next foal. He found that if he didn’t make eye contact with the foals, he could sometimes grab them without them noticing in time.

Sometimes. No such luck this time, the foal was too quick, too on edge. It skittered around in the box on wounded legs, pushing them to the limit as it searched for a way out, any way out.

“NU! Nu huwt babbeh! Mummah! Mummah hewp! Munstah huwt babbehs! Hewp! Hewp babbehs! Mummaaaah!!! Huu huu huuuuu!!!”

In an instant Neumann’s hand darted down, pinning the foal against a pile of blankets and dragging it to the harness, only for it to bite right on the webbing of his hand. A lucky strike.

He dropped the foal in surprise and pain, but quickly recovered and moved to snatch up the foal. He misaligned his hand however, and the foal was only half caught. It wiggled out and sprinted in a random direction. Right over the edge of the table, as it was. Realizing what was about to happen, Neumann lunged one last time for the foal, catching it by the back leg just as it had begun it’s deadly plunge…

And with a sickening rip, the rotten limb tore free, the weight of the foal was too much for the decayed limb to handle alone, and the foal plummeted to the floor, landing headfirst with a tiny, horrific crack. It wasn’t moving.

Realizing what had just happened, Neumann slowly raised the foal back to the table. He assessed it carefully, but it was obviously dead. His hand was stinging. His head was stinging even more. The final foal whimpered in the corner…

Neumann pinched the bridge of his nose again. He stood like that, head down, eyes shut tightly, for about a minute.

“Fuck.” Neumann finally said.

He reached for the final foal. In it’s stupor, it was only dimly aware that something bad was happening. It muttered drowsily.

“M- Mummagh? H- Huwties… Hewp…”

Neumann placed it in the restraints and readied the scalpel. It’s head hung drunkenly, but shot up in agony as soon as the scalpel split it’s bone.


Neuman didn’t stop for a moment. He continued the cut and severed the front leg with renewed vigor, dressing the wound quickly. Once again, perfectly ordinary flesh. No rot or decay to speak of…

He didn’t buy it anymore. He stopped. Assessing the severed legs carefully even as the foal groaned and whimpered on the restraining metal. He scrutinized them like never before, comparing the severed legs and their patterns.

The intact legs were all gangrenous on the outside, but perfectly fine on the inside. It was frankly inconceivable that the rot would be so pronounced on the outside and yet almost absent on the inside. He smelled the severed leg. It was rank. He smelled one of the bad legs. It was awful. Far worse. But the first leg… He sniffed it again…

Metallic. He looked at the decaying flesh on the outside.

Stained black. Not mottled black, Pitch black. He analyzed the edges, the bruising. He looked at the splotches closer. There were tiny holes. Tiny, regularly spaced holes.

The kind you would get from a tattoo gun.

“Gif babbehs back!”

“Look Tulip, we need to amputate their legs or they’ll have forever sleepies. You don’t want that right?”

“Nu! Nu nu nu! Nu ampootashun! Nu wan! Gif babbehs back! Huuhuuhuuuuu!!!”

This exchange had been going on for quite a while now. Neumann was taking unusually long to amputate the foals, but Aaron was busy with Tulip, who simply refused to calm herself. She had been subjected to unthinkable abuse back when she had been a mill mare, and even afterwards, and the word amputation had a very different meaning to her than it did to the average person…

To Tulip, amputation was when a monster cut a fluffy to pieces for nothing more than their amusement. She had never had it happen to her own foals, but she had seen such a fate befall the foals of others. The gush of blood and the ear piercing screams of tortured babbehs as their limbs were plucked off with pliers, torn off with saws, sliced off with knives, ripped off with fingers, ever so slowly, was something that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

And now, after she had escaped it all twice, it was happening here. Where she should have finally found refuge. She just didn’t understand why the humans here would want to hurt her babbehs, but she didn’t understand why any of the other humans hurt her babbehs either. It’s all just been an endless cycle of pain, anguish, suffering, death, grief and loss since the day she was born. Her inborn notions of warm homes and tasty food, of huggies and sketties and love, had been continuously dashed like sea foam on the harsh rocks of reality. Instead of a loving mummah, with warm milk and warm huggies, she had received cold metal and cramped spaces, watery milk and the silent hatred of mutilated and immobile mares. Instead of a warm housie, with tasty food and a loving daddeh, she had received a cramped cage, with disgusting slop for food. All the humans around her ever gave were orders or beatings. Or silence. Utter, unfeeling, uncaring, uninterested silence. Instead of the joys of motherhood, she had received anguish, grief and loss, as innumerable monsters tortured her babbehs to death, over and over and over again. And now, it was happening all over again here. It never ends.

“Oh shit…” She heard Aaron say in the distance, mid conversation with Neumann.

“Yeah, totally on me, the fallen one. But the others are alive. I’m not sure about the pillowed one though. She might not make it.” Neumann said.

“A fucking tattoo gun? Jesus christ. Don’t feel bad about that. They did that shit just to trick you.”

“I know. I don’t. But Tulip is going to throw a fit.”

“I’ll break the news to her. You need to tell Carla about this.”

“I will. I just need to do a few more surgeries first. There’s a fluffy that just came in wrapped with barbed wire, and another with a nail in it’s hoof. They say it looks infected.”

“Shit. Good luck man. Let me get the foals.”

The two humans broke, one going left and another going right. Aaron returned with a box.

“Well tulip, the surgery was difficult, but here are the results.”

Aaron lowered the box to the floor of the enclosure, and removed the three foals, exposing their mutilated forms to her. Tulip’s horror was absolute.

“We managed to amputate some of the-”


Tulip rushed over to her mangled babbehs.

One of them was legless, reduced to panicked peeps as it wiggled, painfully and uselessly, on ruined stumps. It peeped and chirped desperately, the only word she could manage to mutter was a weak “owwies”.

Another was missing every limb but his front left one. It whimpered in agony, trembling, eyes shut, as it slowly and painfully dragged it’s frame ahead, still uselessly trying to escape the monster that had crippled him for life, totally unaware that the surgery had already ended.

The other… She wasn’t moving. Her eyes were open, mouth agape. Something Tulip had seen before. She knew exactly what it meant.

Her babbeh was dead. It didn’t even have any limbs missing. They had simply killed her babbeh.

Tulip stood there amongst her destroyed brood. Trembling. Wordless.

“Now Tulip. I understand that this might not have been the outcome you were hoping for…”

Tulip was silent.

“Things have definitely gone a little off the plan, not denying that…”

Tulip did nothing but tremble.

“But look, one of your babbehs got to keep their-”

Aaron reached out…


She lunged out at Aaron’s hand and clenched her teeth as hard as she could!

…Only to bite open air.

Aaron was experienced. He had dozens of mares try to bite him over the years, and he knew the tells. He had deftly pulled his hand back before Tulip could bite him, but she wasn’t done.






Aaron pulled away. It was useless trying to do anything with Tulip like this. He watched her scream for a while more, but eventually left when she got tired. Aaron left the room they were in, heading for the bathroom. Tulip was a sobbing mess. She huddled next to her living foals, curling around them protectively, still sobbing as they writhed and whimpered in pain. Her dead babbeh was still where Aaron had put her. Her lifeless eyes hung open, staring into oblivion.

“For fucks sakes.”

“Totally my fault. I should have considered the state of the leg, but couldn’t work that out at the time. It was more mobile than I thought as well.” Neumann said.

“Yeah I guess it would be, if the injuries were fucking fake. Good god.” Carla said.

“I assume you heard about Tulip right? The others were talking about her…”

“Assume? I heard her screaming from all the way down the hall. We need to soundproof the reception area. She must have terrified the other fluffies.”

“Aaron told me about her as well. Aparrently, she does nothing now but curl around her foals and cry. Wont even eat. All she does is lie there and scream whenever anyone comes near her or the foals.”

“What now then?” Neumann asked.

Carla leaned back in her chair. Then she sighed.

“Put her down.” She said.

“I can’t.” Neumann said.

“Why not?”

“The tank is malfunctioning. It won’t turn on.”

“What? Since when?”

“About 10 minutes ago.” Neumann said.

“Holy fuck. Of course… Just leave her in the reception area for now then. Hopefully she’ll calm down over night.”

“And the foals?” Neumann asked.

“What are their chances?”

“Poor. The filly is done for for sure.”

“Put them all down.” She said.

“Understood.” Neumann said.

“…I’ll go put a lamp in the reception area. There’s no night light in there.” Neumann added.

“Thanks.” Carla said.

You don’t know when you started crying. You must have been doing it a long time, because you’re tired now. You’re not sure if it’s because it’s late, or because you’ve been crying so hard, but you feel so tired. The monster who hurt your babbehs came in earlier too. You screamed at him for hurting your babbehs, you shouted that he was a monster, you even told him that you hated him! But he just ignored you. They always ignore you. Or beat you. Or kill your babbehs. He turned the light off too. Leaving you in darkness except for a yellow light stick. Another act of cruelty presumably. You just can’t take any more of this…

Through pained whimpers and labored breaths, your colt stammers out a few words. You raise your head.

“Mummah… cheep M-miwkies?”

Of course. They hadn’t had any milk all day. They were probably hungry. You get off of your belly and raise yourself to a sitting position, exposing your milkie places.

…And they don’t come. Little surprise, considering how maimed they are. Your colt whimpers painfully, Hobbling on his last remaining leg, slowly dragging himself towards you with agonized winces. Finally, he reaches you, and begins drinking milk with pained and desperate gulps, instinctively laying his remaining leg onto your milkie place.

Your other babbeh however, hasn’t moved an inch. In the beginning, she tried to waddle to you, uselessly wiggling her stumps until the pain and futility finally broke her. Now she lies there, sobbing silently, muttering her hunger between her tears, defeated.

Your other babbeh eventually finishes drinking, but he still hasn’t moved. His legs were just cut off. Every movement was agony. He sits in the way, chirping and sniffing fitfully as he struggles to sleep through the pain. You don’t want to move him, but you need to reach your filly, and you’re up against the wall. He needs to move. You reach out and try to pick him up…

“Owwies! Huu huu huu!” He cries. You let go immediately.

Moving him hurt him a lot. You’re afraid to touch him again, but you can’t stay here forever. Your filly needs milkies too. You steel yourself.

Gingerly, you reach your front legs out towards him. He trembles slightly, but doesn’t open his eyes. You take a breath, and try to slowly lift him out of the way. Maybe if you’re slow enough, gentle enough, you can move him aside without causing any pain.

“Owwies! OWWIES! Huuuuu!”

It isn’t working, and his screams are horrible, but it’s too late now. If you stop now, it was all for nothing. You move him to the side, but your leg is in the way. You have to lift him higher to get him over it, compounding his suffering that much more.

You lift him up and over your leg, but he begins to thrash, still screaming, desperate to escape your agonizing grasp. And he does. Your grip is that of a fluffy, your lack of digits, or thumbs, or anything other than a clumsy hoof, means that he easily slips your grasp. He falls to the ground and lands on his back with an awful scream, erupting into wails and tears as all the pain he’s endured is renewed.

“Mummah sowwy babbeh…” You whisper, fighting back tears. You right him with your nose, and he keeps crying, but eventually calms down again.

Finally, you get up and make your way to your filly. You sit up in front of her, but she does nothing. She can’t move at all. Not even the few inches to make it to your milkie places. You exert yourself further, dragging yourself along the table upright, wriggling your milkie places to her face. She whimpers in pain as your vibrations irritate her ruined stumps…

“Hewe babbeh. Dwink miwkies nao…” You tell her.

She doesn’t even respond. She just looks up at you, then closes her eyes again, crying silently. Even vocalizing was too painful.

“Pweeze babbeh… Babbeh nee’ miwkies…”



“Nu wan… Owwies…”

“Mummah knu babbeh. But babbeh nee’ miwkies. Dwinkies nao?”

“Nu wan…”

“Buh babbeh nee’ miwkies! Fow gwow up big an’ stwong! Don’ babbeh wan…” You mutter, realizing the lie leaving your lips.

“Wan gwow up big an’ stwong…?” Finishing it.

Your babbeh lies still, eyes still shut. Silent.

Then, Fresh tears begin to fall…


“Nu wan… Wan… Wan die…”

She said it. The grim phrase. The unnatural phrase. The familiar phrase.

“P-Pweeze nu say dat babbeh… Pweeze nu sweepies! Mummah nee’ babbeh! Pweeze nu foebah sweepies 'gain!” You cry, trembling.

“Huu huu huu…”

“Pweeze babbeh! Mummah wub babbeh! Pweeze, haf miwkies! Babbeh nee’ miwkies! Mummah nee’ babbeh! Pweeze! Too many heawt huwties! Nu wan! Pweeze babbeh! Huu huu huuuuuu!” You plead.

Her tears still fall…

You think about all the things she cant do anymore. Will never do anymore. All the things she’ll never experience. All the simple things she’ll never do again. Then it hits you. A horrific wave of understanding washes over you.

If you were her, would you still want to live?

The terrible answer sits in your heart like a lump of frigid lead…

“…Mummah wiww stay wif babbeh! Babbeh can be wif mummah foebah! Mummah wiww gif wots ob huggies an miwkies an wub! Wots ob upsies an tasty nummies fow babbeh! Babbeh be otay! Mummah wiww be wif babbeh foebah! Babbeh…” You plead…

“Babbeh be happies!” You lie.

Of course, you can’t guarantee that. Even if you do all that for your babbeh, she still might be miserable. And even if it does work for a while, how long until she’s a big fluffy? You know from your days in the mill, leggies don’t grow back. The monsters loved to taunt mummahs with that fact. The fact that their babbehs were forever broken. That they had no future. That even if all the monsters left them alone forever, right there and then, the pain and misery would still last forever.

And what of your own babbeh? You can’t carry her around when she’s big, and it’s not like you can just lie there with her 24/7. How will she eat? How will she reach the litterbox? This would never work…

But you continue to pretend anyways. You can’t go through the pain of having another babbeh enter into the loop. You remember the first babbeh that was broken. The sickening glee with which the monster crushed it’s leggies, the cackles of the monster and the screams of your babbeh as she brought the hammer down over and over again. Every time your babbeh screamed, she laughed. Every time she laughed, she swung the hammer down. Every time she swung the hammer down, your babbeh screamed.

Eventually, she grew bored of torturing him, moving on to your other four babbehs, dragging them screaming out from under you as you hung uselessly in the air, mounted on the wall like a trophy. She killed all of them in ways so painful that it was unbelievable. You didn’t know a fluffy could suffer like that, until it happened to your babbehs. Over and over again. Only after she was finished did she leave your final colt behind. Your lastest, broken babbeh was left to live. You don’t know if she knew what would happen next, but you feel that she must have planned it, because it was three days of pure hell.

His crushed legs caused him agonizing pain in every moment. Huggies only worsened his pain. He tried to hold out, but once they began to fester, and the pain and illness spread to the rest of his body, he began to beg. Not for relief, he had already given up on that, but for death. Once he said the forbidden phrase, He didn’t stop. It was slow at first, one time every minute or so, but soon it sped up. He would ask to die over and over again. No amount of begging or huggies would stop him.

And soon, he got his wish. When one of the humans saw him looping, they called another over and both of them agreed, your babbeh was to die. You argued, protested, begged, pleaded, but deep down you knew. It was pointless. Your babbeh was dead the moment he started repeating the phrase. Maybe even the moment the monster broke his legs. They took him to the grinder. You all ate pieces of him for the rest of the week. You had to. It was either that or beatings. Fasting was not an option in E-blockie.

And so you pretend. You lie. Your selfish deceit does nothing but spare your own despair. Stifle your own fears. No matter what you do, what you promise to do, the grim reality will remain at the back of your mind. You can’t face it, but you can put it off. One more act of cruelty. Just to save yourself. This one will be your own.

“Babbeh be happies…” You repeat.

Your babbeh looks up at you, fresh tears still falling. Her eyes are fearful, but hopeful. Her better judgment is telling her the truth, and she knows it deep down, but she still won’t turn away. It’s a lie she wants to believe.

You try your hardest to convince her. You force yourself to smile. You nod to her with as much false confidence as you can muster. You fight back the tears as hard as you can.

“…Otay mummah…” she says, finally.

She had chosen the lie.

The relief that you were hoping for doesn’t come. All that happens is that she starts drinking milkies. You don’t feel any better. Of course you don’t. You know the truth. You haven’t saved your babbeh’s life.

You’ve merely extended her death.

Soon enough, she stops drinking. Now trying her hardest to sleep. Her pain is even worse than her brother’s.

“Babbeh wub mummah…” She mutters to you weakly.

“Mummah wub babbeh.” You say.

You stand up and maneuver yourself to surround your babbehs, keeping them safe in your warmth.

The frigid lead is even heavier now.

But a few hours later, you awake to your babbeh calling to you, gritting her teeth and trembling in pain.

“Mummah… Owwies!”


“Mummah… Hewp babbeh!” She cries.

“Babbeh haf huwties?” You ask.

“Mummah… Hewp…! …Owwies!”

“Mummah… Mummah hewp! Mummah…” You say, unsure of what to do. You said that you’d help your babbeh, but of course, there was little to nothing you could actually do to accomplish that. You look around panicked and puzzled, but a shrill cry regains your attention.

“Mummah! Mummah! Wowstest owwies! Hewp! Huuhuu huuuuuuu!”

“Mummah hewp! Mummah sabe babbeh!” You shout. You look around. For a moment, your instincts take over, and you start to cry for help from a human!

But you quickly stop yourself. The humans did this to you! Who knows what they would do if you called them back now! Besides, there weren’t even any here at night, and you were pretty sure that it was night time outside the room.


“Mummah hewp! Mummah hewp!” You shout!

You have no idea what to do. You know from experience that huggies don’t help, but you cant help youself. It’s instinct, and besides, you were a fluffy. What could you do in a situation like this except give huggies, cry, or beg for help from a human? You try huggies.

They don’t help.


You hug tighter! Sobbing uncontrollably. You don’t know if you’re hurting her, but her screams don’t get any louder. Then again, she was probably already screaming as loud as she could. You hug as tight as you can!


She screams. You scream. You grit your teeth and bury your muzzle in your chest, uselessly hugging your babbeh tightly, as her screams grow louder and louder, more and more blood curdling. And they don’t stop. Your tears flow like rivers.

Her screams continue into the night, never ceasing, never abating.

The clock in the corner of the room ticks on, heedless of the suffering beneath it.

1:36 am.

Neumann closed the door of his car and locked it. It responded with a honk. He looked at his watch. 7:33 am.

The shelter opened at 9, so he had some time to get the place sorted out. Only Carla would be here at this hour, though even that wasn’t a given. He unlocked the back door with his personal key and headed into the building. He looked at his watch again. 7:35 am.

He had plenty of time to relax. He’d take it slow today. Instead of going to the surgical room, he instead headed to the break room to get some coffee! That’d clear the grogginess. Working without a cup of caffeine in the morning was just pure suffering. He headed in and turned it on, but it was one of those new machines that took the little cups. Supposedly easier, but he had never gotten used to them. He preferred the old coffee grinder and filter approach.

Case and point, the cup rack. It should have been filled with a selection of coffee beans, but it was empty. Great, who knew how long this would take. After an embarrassingly long period of searching, which thankfully nobody was around to witness, he finally found the cups. He put them on the rack one by one. Then he put the last one into the coffee machine.

He thought he heard a shrill screech coming from somewhere, but then the machine came to life. Ah, must have been the water boiling.

Soon his cup was done. He looked at his watch again. 7:49 am. That took 14 minutes!? Christ, he really hated these things…

He thought about going to work, but not yet. Then he heard that shrill noise again. What was that? A pipe? It sounded like it was coming from the hallway…

Eh. Probably nothing.

He sat down in front of the old TV and turned it on. Some kind of stupid program about buying gold was on. He opened the guide and looked for something good. There was a documentary on the lives of arctic terns. Perfect. He could catch the end of it. He leaned back in the chair and turned the volume up.

8:01 am. He took his finished cup of coffee and took it to the sink, giving it a quick rinse out before putting it down. An ounce of prevention and all that.

Lazily, he headed into the hallway. His area of work was just ahead. No more excuses. He needed to get to work at some point. Looked like that sound was gone. He headed over to his workspace, the surgical room, and with a final confirmation that the noise was gone, he shut the door behind him.

A scream echoed out from the reception room.

Neumann threw open the door, turning his head to the side as if to face the door next to him. He walked briskly to it and opened it up, the same surprised and worried expression on his face.

The scene inside was utterly horrific.

The whole room reeked of shit.

Inside the enclosure on the table, 3 fluffies dwelled. The smallest one was crying in long, loud huus, facing his sister and mother. The filly was screaming, alternating between hoarse breaths and spine chilling, agonized screeches, wrapped in the arms of her mother.

The mare however, was a sight of her own. The entire enclosure had shit smeared on it. Her hooves, belly, legs and haunches all had a brown smear or two, and as much brown was on her as pink and yellow. She had been sweating quite a bit, and was covered in rough, matted layers of fluff, interspersing more intact patches. Her face was utterly sodden, tears darkening her fluff all the way to the chest. Her mane was almost flattened.

She sat there, trembling as she held her screaming foal. Eyes shut, teeth gritted. She was surrounded by shit, covered with shit and sweat and god knows what else. She looked like someone had fished her out of a sewer.

She turned her head towards the open door, eyelids raising to reveal bloodshot eyes. There she saw the man who had dismembered her babbehs.

Fear barely even registers on her face. Amidst of backdrop of shit and suffering, Finally, she finds the words to speak.

“Pweeze! Hewp babbeh!”

“Jesus christ, how long were they like that?” Carla says.

“I don’t know. It must have happened during the night. Some time after midnight probably.” Neumann said.

“I managed to get the foal on knockout gas, so she’s not screaming now. I took the other foal out too. It’s wounds could have gotten infected from all the waste. The mare and the enclosure are both going to need a cleaning.” He continued.

“What caused it?”

Neumann produced a tiny, deflated plastic membrane, and put it on the desk in front of Carla.

“I found that sticking out of it’s upper leg wound. Undid the stitches and pulled it out.”

“What is it?”

“Some kind of bladder for fluid. It’s made of reinforced plastic and contains what seems to be a neurotoxin. I’m still not sure what it is, but it caused hallucinations and agonizing pain in the foal. The abuser had surgically implated it into the foal’s legs. The reinforced plastic could only realistically be broken by cutting it with a sharp object. Otherwise, it would probably degrade and start seeping the poison into the foal’s bloodstream that way. It was inadvertantly broken by me when I performed the amputation.”

“Probably by design.” Neumann added.

Carla leaned back in her chair and covered her eyes with her hand. They had been played for fools once again.

“I am so fucking sick of this shit.” She finally said.

“Aren’t you sick of this shit?” She asked.

Neumann sighed. He closed his eyes.

“More than you can even imagine.” He said. There was something truly heavy behind those words…

“Why do people feel the need to fucking do this?” Carla says.


The conversation stops.

A silence falls.

“…We’re done, Carla.”

“Yes. We’re done. Go in there and put them all down. I don’t care about the machine. Use a hammer if you have to. We’re not going to be accessories to a fucking abuser any longer.”

“In fact,” Carla added, rising out of her chair.

“I’ll do it.” Carla said.

“You don’t have to-”

“No, I’ll do it. I always make you do this shit. It’s not fair. I’ll do it this time. You just take a break.” She said, opening the door.

“Okay. But I have something else I need to tell you too. Come right back.” Neumann said.


Aaron headed through the back door. He was unusually early today, but he was concerned about the fate of Tulip. A timely arrival as well, as he had arrived just in time to see Carla heading out of the waiting room with a small family of fluffies in a box.

“Where are you taking them?”

“The tank.”

“It’s working now?”

“I turned it on just a minute ago.”


Aaron wasn’t quite sure what to do. He didn’t want Tulip and the foals to die like this, but he couldn’t really go against the owner too hard either. In the end, he had just decided to stay for Tulip and her babbeh’s last moments.

Carla turned the corner to a soundproofed door. She twisted the handle and pushed it open, carrying the box with her to the tank.

It was a machine about the size of a person, with an airtight container and several cannisters of gas attatched. Inside the cans was a powerful sedative and relaxant. It was quite effective on fluffies. After a short time in the tank, they would go to sleep and never wake up. A death even more painless than injection.

Carla emptied the box into the tank, then quickly sealed it before the fluffies inside could escape. She put her key in and turn on the machine, which activated with a hiss, disgorging it’s scentless, deadly contents into the sealed vessel.

“Whewe hoomin take Tuwip an babbeh!? Gif babbeh back! Babbeh nee’ mummah!”

“Your baby is fine, we’re fixing her up right now, she’s going to be fine.” Carla lied.

“Nu! Gif babbeh back! Huggies…” Tulip trailed off. She wasn’t good at lying…

“Huggies hewp babbeh…”

“It’s okay Tulip! We helped your baby and she’s sleeping soundly right now. She said she wanted to see you as soon as she got up.”

Tulip calmed down a bit. Maybe she had believed Carla, maybe the sedative was kicking in…

“Nu wike scawwy boxie! Wet Tuwip an’ babbeh out!”

“Don’t worry Tulip, it’s a cleaning box. It’s going to make you and your baby nice and clean.” Carla lied.

Tulip was sitting down now. Her head was nodding…

“Oh…Tay… Tuwip… Tuwip sweepy…”

“That’s good Tulip. Sleeping in the clean box is good. Just sleep now. You must be tired…” Carla lied.

“Buh… Babbeh…” Tulip said, her eyes were closing.

“Your baby is fine Tulip.”

“Nu… Babbeh… Nee’ mummah… Wowstest owwies…”

“Don’t worry. Your babies will never have owwies again.” Carla told her, finally telling her the truth.

Tulip said nothing. She simply lied there silent, breathing deeply. Her foal was the same. Both lied silent.

“Are they dead?” Aaron asked.

“Not yet. Give them a few more minutes.” Carla said.

“They’re out though, right?” Neumann asked, entering the room with a very dead foal.

They both stared ahead at the sudden arrival of the spoken of foal.

“The poison did it’s work. She died a few minutes after I left.”

“Poison? What poison?” Aaron asked.

“It’s a long story, don’t worry about it.” Carla said.

“Aaron, can you leave for a bit? I need to talk to Carla.”


Aaron walked out the door, securing it behind him.

“There’s an abuser on the payroll.” Neumann said.

“Excuse me?” Carla said, shocked.

“This fluffy and her foals were left here intentionally by someone who works here.”

“How do you know that?”

“First, the story. Tulip said that she ‘escaped’, but that doesn’t really happen. Abusers keep their fluffies locked up tight. A fluffy getting out and gabbing to the neighbors would be a disaster, and I’ve never heard of that happening. I think she was allowed to ‘escape’ intentionally, to throw us off.” Neumann said.

“Okay…” Carla said.

“Second, the injuries. Two of the legs were necrotic on each of the foals. Always the back legs. The front legs were merely tattooed. This was so that when we cut them off, it would be our misjudgement that led to the foals being pillowed, not just the abuser.”

“Yes, we’ve already been through that.” Carla retorted.

“Yes, but the poison was a recent discovery. But your initial decision to have the fluffs put down would have rendered it pointless. The poison was slow acting. So that it would kick in during the night, maximizing the suffering of Tulip and her foals. Meaning the abuser knew we wouldn’t be here at night. Fair enough, someone could guess that, but your decision to have them put down immediately would have ruined that.” Neumann explained.

“…I suppose.”

Neumann opened a service hatch on the side of the tank.

“I was suspicious, so I opened this up. I’m not an engineer, but this part here is definitely a cannon plug. It can be unscrewed. If you do that, and you have to do it on purpose, the machine can’t turn on. It’ll look broken.”


“Someone figured out about the fact that you wanted them put down, so they came in here and sabotaged the machine. That way their plan could get off the ground. With the machine broken, Tulip and her foals would live to see the night, then they would get to experience the neurotoxin.”

“They could only have done that if they work here. The abuser is one of us.” Neumann concluded.

Carla stood in stunned silence for a moment, shocked by the horrible news.

“Do you think it’s Aaron?” Carla said.

“It’s possible. He was the person watching Tulip, so he would be the first to know, but he’s been here for months. He’s not a new hire, and he’s not the only one that would know about Tulip. Besides, they don’t even need to know. They might have just assumed Tulip would be put down. In fact, they might have been planning to sabotage the machine from the very beginning. There’s not enough information yet.”

“…So, they’re just… Here. They’re just here, in my fucking shelter, abusing my fluffies, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” Carla said.

“Until we catch them.” Neuman said.

Carla was silent for a moment.

“…We can’t tell anyone about this…” Carla said.

“Agreed. We have to wait for them to make a mistake. We’ll act natural for now. When the next one comes in, we’ll try to expose them. We still have the advantage that they don’t know that we’re on to them.”

“Alright. We play along for now. In the meantime, I’ll do background checks on all the new hires. You keep on the lookout for anything that looks suspicious. Between the two of us, hopefully we can catch this fucker.”

Aaron took his ear away from the door, and hurried down the hall before it opened.

An abuser on the payroll? Playing along for now? It sounded like some cheesy murder mystery, but with fluffies being murdered instead.

Of course, it was actually happening and not a movie. Aaron went to the bathroom, locking himself in the small room. He pulled out his phone.

Peer to peer browsers were spotty at the best of times, but on a mobile phone, on cellular data, they were practically unusable. Still, he was patient. He opened his website of choice and took a look.

Turnip, Daisy, Hotrod, Avocado. He found his mark.

Avocado, green-dark green. Traumatized as a foal. Severe abandonment issues. Taught that foals are monsters and trained to kill foals on sight. He sounded like he’d be a hit during play time. All Aaron needed was a distraction for the Shelter staff. Maybe a fire? An explosion? No no no, no crimes. He needs to get away with it scot free. What’s the point if he just gets arrested for arson? There must be a way for him to distract everyone in the common room…

Well, he could work out the details later. For now, he’d let the heat die down. Leave some time to strike again.

He’ll never let them catch him. Never. He had to be here.

This is where he can make a difference.


Wow, phenomenal writing and story as always. I hope we’ll get to see Aaron’s plan to let a dangerous fluffy loose at foal playtime, because that sounds suitably horrific. Glad to see you active on here again.


Fuckin loved it. Your depiction of an abused fluffy is great. Actual fear and paranoia of humans instead of how most people write them liking humans again five minutes later. I hope there’s gonna be a continuation.


There probably wont be a continuation. I think that’s all I’ve got for this kind of story. I’ll probably move on to the eventual fate of one of my other fluffies next. We’ll see.


Solent brown is one of my favorite series of all time. I have always wanted more from that universe and now I have it! Amazing story. So well written and deeply evocative. I HATE Aaron with every fiber of my being. Bravo!


Totally understandable lol, looking forward to your further writings regardless.

Wow, heart wrenching and insidious. I love it.

Great story!

I liked how that the fluffy’s suffering was continued even after the abuser was done.


fuck this was a good one. I was starting to get bored of fluffies for a bit but then I saw this and it hit the spot. Always a fan of your work. Looking forward to the next entry.

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I know exactly what you mean. You really have to scrounge for true despair. It’s hard to put into words, but a lot of the content on the site has moved away from stories of fluffies suffering the worst fates, experiencing the lowest depths of despair, and dying in the most horrific, yet inconsequential ways. Now people seem to prefer stories of fluffies as deep, nuanced characters with agency. That’s fine, but what about stories of futility and tragedy? What about the unavoidable suffering of a completely powerless and delusional biotoy facing the harshness of reality? The horrors of the infinitude of human evil? Of their own evil? How badly would they fail? What are the worst fates that could possibly befall them? I don’t see it much anymore, and that’s why I started writing. It’s what I’m trying to depict. Stuff like this.



God I miss wolfram.


If someone ever finds wolfram, I’d probably toss him a rack. Do you mind if I adapt Soylent brown to comic form at some point? And would you be interested in being paid to write at some point? Call it a collab but I figure you and I could come together to create more of what we’re both missing from this community.

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I’d argue we still get TONS of stories and art like that, just with slightly more nuance to the fluffies themselves

Yeah, go ahead and make it a comic if you want to, that’d be amazing. As for being paid to write, im not so sure. I have work and school pretty much every day, which is why i left for so many months, so im not sure if i’d be able to get in time to write consistently.

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Offer remains on the table for the future, assuming I don’t quit fluffies sometime in the interim. Gl with the school shit on top of work.

Lots of great twists and turns in a breezily paced story.

I hope Katz and his mill are okay though. He was a pretty swell businessman who treated his staff well despite them not reading the literature a lot of the time.


Big agree man. You did such a good job with this side story painting the inevitability of evil. Fucking love it. Screw the newfriends, bleakbox lives on.