You are a bestest babbeh. Your mummah used to tell you every day. Now she calls you a bad fluffy, a brat, a shitrat. You have the worstest heart hurties every time. Ever since you demanded sketties, you’ve become incredibly acquainted with Mr. sorry stick. Your once pure yellow fluffy is now striped with welts and scars.
You don’t understand why your mummah suddenly calls you bad— you did nothing wrong or different. You didn’t change, she did! She decided you were no longer the bestest, she decided you were a bad fluffy!! Not you!!
You know you’re the bestest, no matter what. Your mummah had just become a dummeh. But… The sorry stick gives you so many hurties and without your dummeh mummah you wouldn’t have any nummies. So, you force yourself to follow her new rules, though can’t stop yourself from feeling entitled to what you rightfully deserve.
This becomes most apparent when the FluffyTV airs the “Babies!” show. You’ve been feeling weird for a few days now, and the sight of foals seems only to make it worse. You’re excited, though you don’t know why. Your tummy feels exceptionally empty despite having just scarfed down your mid day meal. Your special place is all tingly and you can’t help but scoot across the carpeted floor a bit to try and itch it.
Your mummah returns home from work an hour later and finds you glued to the television, still slightly scooting though not as much as your special place had started to hurt a few minutes ago. She stares at you, then the television, then back at you.
You hear the door creak open more and your attention is brought to your mummah. Excitedly, you jump up from your spot on the carpet, not noticing the damp spot you’d left before running over to greet her.
“Mummah!! Mummah!!! Wemonade wan babbehs!! Pwomise to be bestest mummah eba!” you squeal excitedly, your little hooves gently rubbing at your mummahs leg.
She stares down at you and after a moment you feel her warm not hoof pet your mane.
“Well I suppose you have been pretty good recently… and it would be such a waste not to breed you when you have such good colors. I suppose you can have some foals,” your mummah says, her voice is soft like it used to be when you were a baby.
You give another squee and begin bouncing around excitedly, babbling on about how you’re going to be the bestest mummah and have the bestest babbehs. Your mummahs back not hoof sticks out suddenly, stopping you in your merry tracks.
“There’s rules to having babies though, so listen carefully— mummah gets to pick your special friend, your special friend will only visit, he won’t live here and if mummah says a baby is a ‘good baby’ then it is even if you don’t think so. Understand?”
You’re a little sad that you won’t have a special friend with you the whole time, but the promise of babies was far more important than that. Your mummah says something about good babies and you can’t help but giggle. Your mummah is so silly, of course you’ll have good babies.
With a final coo, you trot over to your food dish and munch away at the nu pretty kibble. You’ll stomach it for now, but you’re sure once you’re the bestest soon mummah, your mummah will give you all the bestest sketties for the bestest milkies ever!!
She’ll have to, because you’re Gonna be the bestest mummah.
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Shorter than the others, but I feel it didn’t need any extra fluff (no pun intended). Just wanted to get the catalyst set up for the next arc, Ode to Bestest Mummah.
