Usually you don’t like winter. It’s like sand. It’s coarse and rough and irriating… and it gets everywhere. (I’m not sorry lmao)
It does drive a lot of feral fluffies to come to your house however, begging for food or shelter from the harsh conditions. Sometimes herds come too but most of the herds stay in and around the city, trying their luck there. In fact, the last herd that showed up, showed up 3 years ago which is one of the bigger perks of country life. So mostly, you get to deal with smaller families.
A mare with her 3 foals, shivering from the freezing temperatures, her babies chirping on her back.
“Pwease nice mistuh…” the mare looks up at you, “Gib nummies fo’ fwuffy an babbehs? Babbehs nee miwkies ow go foweba sweepies… Huu huu… Nu wan dummeh nu-wakie babbehs… Pwease gib nummies…”
After looking over the fluffies you’re standing before a green earthie mare, a yellow unicorn filly, a light blue pegasus colt and… hold on…
An orange alicorn colt?
“Hey I can’t help but notice… is that an alicorn foal there?”
“Your… wingy-pointy… baby there”
“Wha? Dewe nu wingeh-pointeh babbeh he-”
SKREEEEEEEE! MUNSTAH BABBEH! NU HUWT FWUFFY AN ODA BABBEHS!
The mare starts panicking and running in circles, throwing the foals off her back. You pick her up before she can trample any of them.
Pathetic little creatures…
“Hey, Hey! HEEY! It’s okay…”, you pet her softly, “You really didn’t realize you gave birth and cared for an alicorn?”
“Nu… am wowstest mummah eba…”
“No you’re not. Has that baby ever done anything to you?”
“You think it’s a monster right? That it’ll eat your babies or some crap”
The mare nods and gives you a look as if you had just challenged the fact that the earth is a sphere.
“Yus! Munstah babbeh num bestest babbehs an’ gib foweba sweepies! Eb’un knus dat!”
“Buut… Has he done that yet?”
“I mean… He was a monster before you realized it, right? And he hasn’t eaten his siblings yet, right?”
“So is he really a monster?”
“Yus! Wowstest munstah eba! Nee foweba sweepies!”
“No, he doesn’t. He’s just another fluffy foal like all the others. He needs love and hugs and milk”
The mare thinks about this for a second, looking back and forth between you and her babies.
“Buuh… munstah babbeh…”
Your defense against the mares ‘munstah babbeh’ visibly collides with her natural instinct, rendering her speechless while she tries to figure out what to do with her alicorn foal, sitting comfortably in your arms while her babies are literally freezing to death below.
While the fluffy mare ponders the very core of her existence, you scoop up her baby foals and head inside your house, shutting the door behind you.
Man, it’s cold as hell outside.
Chirping and peeping at the alien smell and texture of the wooden cabinet, the foals crawl around, trying to find their mummah, who you’re still holding.
Finally, their mummah seems to remember that she has foals and starts shifting around in your hands.
“Wewe am fwuffy an’ babbehs? Am in housie? gasp Mistah be nyu daddeh!”
Then it takes her a bit to actually realize where her babies are and hear their instinctual scaredy-peeps.
“Daddeh bestest daddeh buh pwease gib babbehs tu mummah… Babbehs hab scawedies an nee mummah!”
Smiling gleefully, you watch her babies move around the cold wood with increasing panic, trying to alert their mother with a series of peeps. Their mother, in turn, also starts to get uneasy.
“Daddeh? Daddeh pwease… Nu wike dis game… Gib babbehs tu mummah”
Watching her babies intently, the mare is now squirming vigorously, babbling about how scared her babies are until you reach over and grab them.
Due to only having one free hand you need to grab the foals rather harshly, holding one by its leg, causing the foals to peep in distress.
“Sorry”, you mumble haphazardly as you lift them up to their mummah.
“Here you go”
The mare takes the first baby between her hoofs, nuzzling it happily.
It doesn’t take long for her to put the foal away in her fluff and grab the next one, repeating the process.
After that, the only foal that is left is the orange alicorn, sniffing your hand curiously.
Her mother, still not fully accepting the fact that she has an alicorn, hesitates, making the alicorn shit in your hand in fear of being abandoned.
“Aaah… ew… here, take it”, you say, putting the mare down on the cabinet and heading into the guest toilet to wash your hands.
You nuzzle your wingeh-pointeh babbeh as it suckles the milk from your milkie-place.
A wingeh-pointeh babbeh.
You almost can’t believe you’re actually, willingly taking care of a wingeh-pointeh babbeh.
But daddeh was right, despite it being a munstah babbeh, it never did anything out of the ordinary. In fact, it didn’t behave differently than your other babbehs at all. It chirped like them, it slept like them and it drank milkies like it’s brother and sister.
Moreover, daddeh had insisted you take care of the wingeh-pointeh babbeh and whatever daddeh says must be right!
He also gave you the best saferoom and the best name a fluffy could ever wish for!
He named you Emily.
Just then, you hear daddeh open the door and you turn your head to the door, trying to keep your body still so as not to disturb your babbeh’s meal.
“Wook daddeh! Gud wingeh-pointeh babbeh dwink miwkies fo’ gwow big an’ stwong”
“Wow… that’s great…”
Daddeh doesn’t seem impressed though as he sits down in front of you and after sighing and looking around, he looks straight at you, his face petrified in a look of concern.
“Soo… Emily, how do I put this…”
Something is wrong. Really wrong.
You can feel it somehow.
“You’ve been wandering around in the cold for quite a long time, haven’t you?”
Daddeh stares at you with a cold, piercing stare that makes you wince and you barely register your foal latching off and chirping contently to let you know it’s full.
“Aand… that really hasn’t been good for your legs”
Your legs? Granted they were pretty cold and hurt a lot when you were still outside, but they’ve warmed up and they feel great! How could they still be a problem?
“They’re sick. Very sick.”
How is that possible? They’re working perfectly!
You feel like the ground is tilting beneath you and you have to keep balance with your forehooves to keep from falling over.
Looking at the ground, you really hope it isn’t serious. The last time someone was sick it was your sepecial friend. And he’d taken forever-sleepies soon after.
“Weggies am sickies?”
You repeat what daddeh said, just to confirm, hoping that you misheard something.
“Yes, I’m afraid they are…”
He stands back up.
“They’re going to have to go”
Now the world is spinning and you can’t help falling flat on the floor.
“Nu! Nu take weggies pwease… Nee fo’ wun an pway… Nee fo’ gib huggies tu babbehs… Babbehs gon hab bigges’ saddies…”
Daddeh just stands there, unmoving, not a whisper of pity or sympathy in his face.
“I’m really sorry”
And just like that, your world collapses, it tumbles down, shrouding you in a mist of sadness at not being able to run, not being able to play anymore.
Looking down at your fluffy, its life ruthlessly crushed by you, you can’t help but feel a certain sense of dominance, a certain sense of sick power over this little being who you’ve just fed the biggest lie you could think of, just so you could pillow it and have some fun with it.
And to think, you have a hugboxer girlfriend.
Man, if she ever finds out about what you are setting up to do, she’ll dump you faster than you can say ‘shitrat’.
Anyhow, you have stuff to do.
Daddeh leads you down a staircase into a weird smelling room. There are a few shelves propped up against the wall and lots of weird tools spread across them. You don’t like it here.
Buut, It’s about to get a lot worse.
THE END of Part 1
This was supposed to be another one-off abuse story but I actually completely planned it this time and I’m nowhere near done yet with the plan (Haven’t even gotten through the first 3 points yet) so I’ve decided to just split this into at least 2 parts.
So yeah, more coming soon!
Also if the tags ever seem a bit off, I’m really overwhelmed with the tagging system and I’m trying my best. If there’s any tags you guys feel should be added, don’t hesitate to let me know.