Oh hi Mark! (IsItTru)

Another day breaths is first breath as the sun slowly rises over the mountain tops, only to immediatly be covered by approaching storm clouds. Small rain drops dance in a cascade of beauty and reverence over the now waking city as another rainy spring day greets it’s dwellers. Salt Lake City isn’t too bad. Fewer homeless people and far less crack heads than Portland. (At least mark thought so anyway.)

Mark, an average guy in his mid 20’s, with no real discernable features aside from his black hair and green eyes, yawns and stretches before he slams the dismiss button on his phone. The alarm had, once again, done it’s job and woken him up for another day of discovery and adventure! At least, that’s what it felt like before his grandparents died. Mark sighs as he swipes the screen to unlock his phone, revealing a picture of him and his nana before she passed sometime ago.

Mark checks the time on his phone, reading “5:30 am” before sighing and burying his face in his hands. This would normally be the time that he would be getting up and getting ready to go work in his nana’s bakery. 3 months ago, his nana suffered a fatal stroke after trying to shove a pickle jar up her ass and ended up passing on not too long after. It’s been 2 months since Mark became the owner of the bakery and acquired a sizeable inheritance from his grandmothers passing. Sure, money was no longer an issue for quite some time, but the bakery never felt the same after nana’s passing.

Mark had already signed over ownership of the bakery to his younger sister, who coincidentally had an intense passion for baking. She happily accepted the little baked goods store and Mark got away with enough money to keep him comfortable all the way through retirement. At least his rent and bills would remained paid up, right? He takes one more deep breath before slowly standing to his feet and making his way to the bathroom to start his day. Even if he had nothing to do, anything is better than sitting in bed depressed all day.

Mark kicks his socks off before entering the bathroom. He turns the handle to the shower toward the smiling sun, staring at the little design as the water hits the shower floor with a wicked HISSSSSSS as steam begins to fill the bathroom. Mark grabs his towel and slides his shirt off, preparing to untie his sweats, when something… “off”, catches his attention. Something that he wasn’t used to experiencing during his morning routine. A tapping sound, much like the sound of small pebbles softly hitting a wood fence. Mark would have missed the sound entirely if he hadn’t decided to turn his heater on before starting his shower.

Slowly, Mark turns the shower off as quietly as he can. The hissing of the rushing water is soon replaced by the gentle tapping of a few stray drops leaking from the showerhead. Mark slowly turns his head toward the source of the tapping sound. It seemed to be originating from his back door. This was strange, because Mark had a fenced yard and he knew the fence gate was locked up tight. What could possibly be making that noise at this hour?

Suddenly, Mark is ripped away from his internal monologue as another sound begins to permeate his home. It kind of sound like… A little kid? That couldn’t be right. How and why would a kid be in his back yard at this time of day?

“huuhuu…hewwo? F-f-fwuffie am… Cowdies’…”

The realization dawns on Mark as his expression changes from one of confuse and sadness to irritation and bitterness. Sure it wasn’t a creepy child at his door, but Mark slowly began to wish that it was. He wasn’t unfamiliar with fluffies. In fact, they were one of the biggest contributing factors to his moving here to begin with. Portland had slowly become more and more infested with the little vermin biotoys mere weeks before he had decided to move down state. You couldn’t go anywhere without seeing dead ones, ferals, or starving foals. They destroyed gardens, yards, businesses, streets; you name it. Mark groans to himself as he throws a hoodie on.

Mark knew the best way to deal with these things soliciting was to simply ignore them. Ignore the mare at your door long enough and it will move on to your neighbors place or something, right? So that’s what he did. For 15 seconds before knocking a baking pan off his stove and right onto the hardwood floor, making a louder than normal clattering noise that causes him to nearly jump out of his skin. Unfortunately, Mark wasn’t the only thing to hear the loud crashing noise. Mark quickly picks up the pan and puts it in his sink before being met with another migraine inducing sound:


Mark facepalms hard enough to high-five the wall behind him. Not only did the fluffy know he was there now, but apparently she’s got more crotch goblins on the way. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs before quietly making his way to his back door and glaring out from behind the curtains that covered the doors window. There, standing in the rain on his back porch, stood a rather plump looking dull green fluffy. Her mane and tail were colored nearly the exact same, and she appeared to have two damaged wings on her back. No doubt the result of this bloated mare trying to haul herself around. She probably fell and injured herself somehow.

Mark quietly stares through his window at the pathetic sobbing mess of pregnant Pegasus that stood sadly out in the rain on his back porch. His grandmother would feed stray cats around the bakery to keep these things away, so it’s an even bigger surprise to find one out here, especially at this time of day. He continue to stare down at the mare as the storm began to come down even harder. Rain was now falling even harder, threatening to drown the mare if she was unfortunate enough to simply look upward. Mark turns and looks around his living room, then to his kitchen, then finally the door leading to his garage. He spares one last glance at the crying mare before shuffling to his garage door, opening it and letting in a sudden rush of cold air.

Inside his garage sat his old project bike, some various mechanics tools, and tons of boxes filled to the brim with his old possessions that he never bothered to unpack. Without a word, Mark grabs a larger box from the corner, dumping its contents into another box before quickly throwing it on the floor. Next he grabs few spare grease rags to cover the bottom of the box before throwing a small deflated pillow in with them. Satisfied with his lazy work, Mark quickly throws a beanie on before heading back to his back door.

He glares out the window once more and notices the mare has taken cover (or at least done its best to) under one of his deck chairs. The Mare’s near over-inflated body meant that it could only get itself halfway under the chair, leaving its rear end exposed to the elements. The mare was shivering violently, cowering with her head on the ground while trying her best to cover her eyes with her hooves. Mark shakes his head, wondering what the hell he’s doing as he slowly turns the lock on the door before opening it just an inch.

The mare, upon hearing the door squeak open, turns around as fast as her bloated body will allow her. She glares up at Mark’s face through the door, tears and rain matting her face fluff down as she waddles as fast as she can to the crack in the door.


The mare slams her face against the door, causing her to flop backwards onto her haunches with a wet slapping sound. Blood slowly begins to trickle from her nose as she desperately tries to reach up to give it huggies.

“OOF! OWWIES!! Smeww pwace haf’ wostes hewties!! Mummah’ taste booboo juice! HUuhuu why hewt’ mummah? Am gud’ mummah!”

The mare cries as it rubs the underside of its nose, being to bloated to actually be able reach its face.

“I didn’t say you could come in. I didn’t even say anything. What do you want?”

The mare simply stare up at him through the small crack, soaking wet and nose bleeding. All it can do is whimper as it tries to rub it’s nose before going back to rubbing it’s bloated belly. Mark rolls his eyes before tucking his hands into his sleeve to pick up the mare. She doesn’t say anything as Mark quikly carries her to the box in his garage. He drops her into the box from waist level before wordlessly walking back to the kitchen to get a bowl of water.

“Wai gif’ hewties tu’ mummah?? Hewties am bad fo’ tummeh babbehs…?”

The mare’s minor fall damage is completely forgotten as she looks around at her new surroundings. The garage was dark and cold, but it was dry. The not-fluff nestie was scratchy, but it was slightly warmer. She couldn’t see over the edges of the box, but she did have a view out the garage window to the outside from her little boxie. She quickly turns her attention to her tummeh and her tummeh babbehs, rubbing her belly and sniffling away her last few tears before laying down the best of her abilities within the confines of her new nest.

Mark returns a few minutes later with a bowl of water and a small bowl of grapes. Approaches the box, noticing that the mare had climbed onto the pillow and fallen asleep. He simply sighs and shakes his head, setting the food and water down on the other side of the box before walking back into his house. He shuts the door and rubs his head. Those grapes looked pretty good. Better check what he has for lunch.


Why the fuck did the nan attempt to shove a jar of pickles up her ass.


I prefer to believe she had her stroke a little earlier than diagnosed.

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I really hope those grapes are deadly to fluffies as to cats and dogs.

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For science!

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New go fund me page for a kidney transplant for a fluffy lmao


1 nan 1 pickle jar


I did not hit her, I did noooot. Oh hi mark.


anyway, how is yoursexlife?

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