You are a bestest mummah. You know this because you just had the bestest babbehs!! Well, you assume they’re the bestest — they came from you, after all! Your mummah is hiding your babbehs from you over on a warm blanket, but she promised to show you them.
You’re so excited to see your foals, and as the blanket is placed in front do them your teal eyes scan the bodies. First, you noticed the smaller pile that your mummah had made— these are the ones she looked not so happy about. You can see why— one babbeh is a pointy colt with dark dark yellow fluff and a dark burgundy tail. It’s not very pretty at all!! The one next to it is an earthy colt with puke green fluff and a mustard yellow tail. Yucky!! Those can’t be your babies, your mummah must’ve mixed them up…. Somehow.
With a huff of disapproval, you look to the other pile. These babbehs are much prettier!! There’s a pale yellow filly with a white tail— she’s so pretty. Her brother is entirely white!! A very handsome chirpie indeed. There’s another brother who’s also white, but his tail is peachy, like yours!!
Finally, there’s a pink filly with a white mane. Your heart beats in your chest as you look over the pile to pick your favorite. Your hoof reaches out to turn one of the fillies and a horrified expression paints your features. This… babbeh has a pointy and wingies!! She’s a monster— like your special friend!! You gulp and push the foal away from you. That’s fine, there’s still three more to choose from! Right, on to the next filly— another munstah Babbeh, you realize suddenly. Well, maybe the boys— you recoil as you see two more sets of wingies and pointies.
You can’t believe it… four munstah babies and two poopie babbehs??? This can’t be right!! How can all your pretty babbehs be munstahs!! You can feel sad wawa in your seey places and your heart has the wowstest hurties. You lift your hoof almost involuntarily— you know what you must do.
But before you can make contact with the helpless monsters, your mummah pulls the blanket back and you find yourself falling forward. Your nosie smacks the floor infront of you and you burst into a fit of tears.
“Owies!!! Fwuffy has wowstest huwties!! Why mummah take munstahs away and gib fwuffy owchies!!” you cry out, your hooves moving to your nose in an attempt to stop the pain.
When you finally stop crying, you make eye contact with your mummah and she does not look happy.
“THESE are not monsters. They’re beautiful alicorns and they’re worth a LOT of money. These are GOOD babies, so you CANT give them forever sleepies,” she demands, clearly out of her mind. Why can’t your mummah see that they’re monsters?? They’re so scary… just like your special friend.
You sob softly as you remember him, these foals only bringing back your trauma each time you see them. You’re given no sympathy from your mother, however, as she places the two poopie babbehs next to you and takes the other four in her arms.
“Do whatever you want with these two, I don’t care— but these four are very important and I won’t have you fucking them up,” she states, causing you to shudder at the bad word. Your eyes glance down to your two not monsters babies, your hoof poking each. On instinct, they immediately chirp and crawl towards your teats.
You huff in irritation, glance back and forth before deciding the yellow one is at least a little less ugly than the green one, which is promptly shoved off your pillow. It hits the ground with a soft thud, not falling far enough to do any damage but enough to cause him to start chirping in distress. Begrudgingly, you allow the ugly yellow babbeh to latch on to your nipple and begin to feed.
“M…mummah wuv… bestest babbeh…” you begin to sing to it, though your enthusiasm is definitely not there.
After a few forevers, your foal detaches and gives a soft burp, your other foal never ceasing its crying from the floor. You try your best to ignore it, but it’s starting to get on your nerves. With a huff of frustration, you give the chirpie a glare.
“Shuddup stooping poopie babbeh!! Nu desewve miwkies!! Yu am ugwy poopie!!!” You scream at it, hoping it’ll stop crying. This backfires as the foal begins chirping even louder, clearly upset but your loud words. Without hesitation, you lift your hoof once more and this time your mummah isn’t there to stop you. You feel the soft crunch and squish beneath your hoof as you crush the foal beneath it. It gives a few strangled peeps from the impact on its back, but one final stomp to its head has put it out of its misery.
“Dewe, ugwy babbeh gu fowebah sweepies an’ nu bowder mummah nu moar,” you state triumphantly then turn your attention to your yellow foal— you hadn’t even noticed your actions had caused him to cry as well, but you tug the baby into your fluff to console it.
“It am otay bestest babbeh, ugwy poopie bruddah am gone nao…” you coo, figuring that must’ve been why your foal was so upset.
It’s another couple of forevers before your mummah comes back. She doesn’t have any foals with her— maybe she realized they were monsters and gave them forever sleepies too!! That’s okay, you’ll have better babies next time.
With a happy hum, you look up to your mummah who’s giving you a disgusted look.
“Really, lemonade? You had to squish it on the kitchen floor. You could’ve at least waited for me to come back and I could’ve given it a less messy forever sleepies,” she grumbles, more upset by the nasty stain than anything else.
“I see you’ve picked your favorite. Great, let’s get you two back to the safe room,” she states and picks you up by the pillow, carrying you back to your room.
You’re babbling to your baby about how he’ll love his new room, all his toys and all your milkies. After all, he’s the only one that will have them, seeing as he’s the last surviving foal—
You catch sight of something new in your safe room. It’s a big cage in the corner. It has its own litter box, a ball and a food & water bowl in it. It’s pretty small, but big enough to fit a few fluffies. You twitch your ear at it, trying to figure out its purpose before you feel yourself being dropped into it by a door on the top.
You gasp as you and your baby topple over on the pillow you were sitting on, nearly knocking over your water bowl.
“Owies!! Why mummah gib huwties?? Why bestest babbeh and bestest mummah in sowwie boxie???” You cry out, looking up to your mother through the grating. She’s not even looking at you anymore, her back is turned to you and she’s messing a big fluffy nest.
You see your mummah place colorful fluff ball after another until all four of your munstah babbehs are curled up on the fluffies nestie ever, directly across from you. The nestie is very big, too big for all those monster babies!! It should be YOURS!! Then you see her place two big stuffy friends near them— they’re as big as you. They even look like mummah fluffies, down to the pair of milkie places they each have. The foals seem to curl up to them instinctively. They’re cheeping hungrily, you can tell. Dummeh munstah babbehs, those are stuffie toys, not real mummahs!! They don’t have milkies!! Too bad they’re not gonna get any of your milkies!!
The deserve forever sleepies, not love and milkies. You feel proud in your decision you’ve made, and happily move to once again feed your yellow foal.
The baby, already hungry again, suckles greedily when it’s placed near your milkie place. You close your eyes in content, humming a mummah song. Your happiness is cut short, however, as you feel your baby being pulled off your nipple and hear it cry out in confusion. You barely have a chance to open your eyes before you feel two cold thingies covering your milkie places. Your mummah presses a button on a big boxy that they’re connected to, and you feel the cups suck at your tits. You give a scree at the feeling— this machine is taking all your milkies!!
“Mummah nu!!! Dat am bestest babbehs miwkies!! Nu can hab, ow babbeh nu gwow big and stwong!! Wiww hab wowstest tummie huwties ebah!!” You scream, your leggies far too to move the cups off your tears.
Before you can even attempt such an action, you feel a hard slap against your face and you look up to your mummah in horror.
“No, shitrat. These milkies are for MY bestest babbehs. Your shitty foal can have what’s left. I was kind enough to let you keep an ugly baby, so you’re going to give me your milkies or you’re both going to have forever sleepies. Understand?”
You begin to sob now, a cacophony of huuhuu’s escaping you as your hooves move to cover your eyes. Weren’t you her bestest babbeh? Why were your munstahs now her favorite!! It wasn’t fair. Your poor bestest babbeh was going to STARVE and it was all your dummeh mummahs fault.
It’s a few moments before the machine turns off and your mummah takes it away, tossing your bestest at you half-hazardously. She makes her way over to the two big mummah stuffies and pulls out two bottles from each. You watch as the bottles are filled with YOUR milkies, then placed back inside the stuffies.
Your mummah, with the most gentlest hands that you haven’t seen since you were a babbeh yourself, picks up each munstah and places them on each nipple of the two stuffy friends. You’re forced to watch them suckle happily, drinking all your milkies up from their new fake mummahs. You sob softly, more huuhuus filling the room. That’s not their milkies!! They’re stealing from your poor bestest babbeh.
You look down sorrowfully at the foal back at your nipple, slurping down what’s left of your milkies. You feel tears in your eyes once more at the sight, but your song begins again regardless.
You have to sing to your bestest babbeh. After all, you’re a bestest mummah.
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Next up, ode to munstah babbeh!!
that’s what you get for being a bestes! Hated how she thinks in the start of the chapter still thinks she’s perfect.